Between
by Eh Man
Summary: You know how it began. You know how it ended. From the fainting of Ponyboy and the death of Dally to Pony waking at home in the company of Soda, here's the part S. E. Hinton left out. Version 2.0
1. One

Author's Notes: Almost exactly three years ago, an individual with the screen name "CCCCCCC" emailed me and asked be to please write a story to explain what happened in the time between when Ponyboy fainted and when he woke up in the presence of Soda. Also, I was asked to write what went on "while they're at the hospital with him, and how they all work together to make him better." Always the review junkie, I accepted immediately. It's extremely difficult to say no to a reviewer. About a month later, I had two chapters written and posted, and promptly got a ferocious case of writer's block. Frustrated, I moved on to other stories and other fandoms, leaving 'Between' in Limbo Land.

I've been reading and writing fanfiction (the majority of it, thank god, is not posted on this site- it's that bad.) since I was nine. I know the most infuriatingly annoying thing for a reader is when you finally find a good story, and it's left uncompleted. You never get to know what would have happened or how the story would have ended, because it's still locked up inside the author's head. When I started writing fanfiction, I pledged that I would never let that happen to one of my stories. Unfortunately, it did.

I've always meant to finish it, but it wasn't until recently that I found time. I reread the book, rewatched the movie, and sat down at my little old computer (seriously. It's a clunker.), only to find myself face to face with another problem. I hated my story. My writing style has changed, and (hopefully!) gotten better during my three-year hiatus. I couldn't get through three words before wincing in pain. Now thoroughly inspired, I completely rewrote the two chapters I had already had written and finished a third. Ta da!

There are some people that I seriously need to thank. Everybody who reviewed 'Between' in the three years since I wrote it made me smile. Especially the few people who reviewed or emailed me recently, hoping I'd pick up where I left off. Thank you all so much! Here's a short list of you all: Juniorvarsity, Zuzu-petals, Kimmerkay, True-Slytherin-Gurl, DrunkoffofSoda, DreaminboutDal, Fuddyduddy, Narlae Nat Vanya, MissLKid, Naria4, LTdaQT, Anigrl20, Sodapop Allerdyce, Latinagal, Spikes-luvr-4ever, IndiaArlie, Sissy, El Church, Cassie, Lizzy Halliwell, MarLyG Riddle, Lisa, DarkElixer66, Fanficfan, Stealth67, Blame it on the Government, Mii Genuise, Griffins95, WitchyBitch, Suckers Love, Joce, GerryGirl, Karlei Shaynner, and Phaerie-Mage1313.

Okay, this AN has gone on for much too long. (I feel like one of those actresses accepting their Acadamy Awards who go rambling on and on until the music starts and the presenters have to drag them off the stage.) Oh, and if you've already read the first two chapters before, you should probably read them again, because I changed quite a bit!

To quote myself three years ago: "You already all know how it begins, and you know how it ends. Well, here are all the little fleshy bits in between."

-Kate Everson

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

* * *

The shots rang out into the cold night air. They echoed through the deserted alleys, the empty sidewalks, and the bare streets. They rose into the sky, filling the night with loud sharpness, the unmistakable sound of life being taken. The streetlamps above, their glimmering eyes whirring softly as they burned, flickered as though in response to the shouts still lingering in the air. Footsteps rang out on the pavement, thickly muffled by the cold depths of the concrete.

New shouts cut through the air like a knife; from far away came the screams of terror from mothers, husbands and children woken to the sounds of gunshots. Silence, deafening silence. Sirens roared, incessant and insistent, shattering the eye of the storm. Police radios stuttered with static, a deep and continuous hum that faded into the background simply and easily. Lights, blue and red, everywhere, lighting every shadow and chasing every darkness. Life was bathed in the unearthly glow, the unnatural sun of a primary colored crime scene.

A group of teenage boys, watching and running and gasping for breath, were quite suddenly still. The breath still tore from their throats, their chests still heaving up and down, the beads of sweat still slipping from their foreheads, but they were frozen. Their eyes, wide with disbelief and dark with stunned realization, stared at the still form lying in the middle of the road.

In the middle of the street, surrounded by the police and the ambulance and the world, a crumpled form lay with crimson blood streaming from his chest. It pooled around his cooling body, a red sea spreading in every direction. The young man lay dead under the streetlamps.

In the group of teenage boys, the one that seemed the youngest swayed as if drunk. His face was pale and marked with blood and bruises, and one of the older boys slowly turned as the younger made a small choking sound as his breath suddenly caught in his throat.

"Glory, look at the kid!"

The boy fainted, his legs crumpling and his head falling limply to the wet grass. The other four teenagers were no longer still. They crowded around the fallen boy as one, refusing to glance at the still figure lying bloody and broken in the road. Their faces were hidden by shadow, shadows that could not be reached by the streetlamps or emergency vehicles, shadows that were as much inside as out.

-

-- Soda's Point of View --

We couldn't die. We were young, we were together, and we were invincible. Adults could die, sure, stupid people as well. Socs could die, and dumb greasers who went out looking for death every day could die as well.

But us, our gang, my brothers, we weren't supposed to be able to die. We couldn't.

But here we were. Johnny was dead. Snuffed out in the hospital. At least he wasn't home. He hates his home, and I know why he does, we all know why he does. _Did_. He _did_ hate his home and he _did_ hate his parents. Johnny will never _do _anything again. Johnny was gone, and now Dally was too.

Dead, lying on the pavement, his chest all shot up and bleeding. Dallas Winston had checked out. Deceased, dead, departed, done for, expired, extinct, lifeless, mortified, perished, passed away. Stiff. Wasted. Gone.

You know, its funny how many words there are for something as simple as a person no longer being alive.

Beside me, Steve choked out a sob, and he moved to run to Dally. No, they wouldn't let him near him. It would only make things worse. There was nothing we could do for him. I was detached, numb, my thoughts were clear in my head, but it didn't feel like I was making them. They just sort of appeared there, kinda like magic. Somehow, I caught Steve by the shoulders and by reflex born of sleeping beside Pony while he had nightmares, managed to calmly whisper reassuring things. Hell, I wish somebody would do the same for me right now. This was all a bad dream, soon I would wake up, and Pony would call me crazy and say he thought he was the one who had nightmares...

"Glory, look at the kid!" It was Two-Bit's voice. I knew that. But it didn't sound like him; it sounded...scared.

Wait.

There were only two people that Two-Bit called 'Kid'. Johnny, and... Ponyboy. My little brother.

The calm feeling was gone.

Before I knew what I was doing, my knees were stinging from crashing to the grass beside Pony. The world went silent. My vision narrowed itself down to only my brother. Everything else I was oblivious to. My hand was on his face, shaking it gently as if he were only asleep, and I could easily wake him. He looked like shit. My insides twisted and bit each other painfully as I stroked his bruised and battered cheek, avoiding the places where it was raw and bloody. He hadn't looked like my grinning, smart kid brother since...well, since he'd gotten back from that good-for-nuthin' church. He was different, in shock somehow...he wasn't himself, not by a longshot. I never should have convinced Darry to let him go and fight in the rumble. I had just wanted him to think about something else, something other than that blasted church. He'd looked so hopeful, I couldn't bear to have Darry disappoint him.

But now I knew. One of those deep insights, ya dig? Darry had been right all along. He hadn't just been overprotective by not letting Pony fight; he had been doing the right thing. Going to a rumble, when you're not in tip-top shape, can be suicide.

No way Pony had been ready for a fight. As much as we tried to watch his back, we'd been distracted, and some Socs had gotten to him. It had been wishful thinking, you could never control what happened in a rumble. Ponyboy had been kicked in the head. Hard. I had landed all over that Soc, but it hadn't helped Pony any. Next thing I know, my little brother walks into the house pale as a ghost, too frightened to have anyone touch him or talk to him.

_"...Johnny... he's dead..."_

And Dallas was on the run. _"He's gonna blow up. He couldn't take it..." _And here we were.

My hand was shaking. I couldn't take my eyes off my little brother; I couldn't accept what was happening to my world. It seemed to be crumbling down around me. Johnny, Dally, not Pony too, oh please God, not Pony too.

There was a hand on my shoulder. I knew it was Steve, it was one of those things you can just tell, without having to put any conscious thought into it at all. I looked up as Darry's solid, reassuring presence knelt down on the other side of Ponyboy. No... Superman was breaking. His brow was furrowed, his teeth clenched, and tears were running down his face, making clear tracks through the blood, sweat and mud. My own breath rattled harshly in my chest, and I swiped my hand across my eyes and cheeks. It came away streaked with the same mess I saw on Darry's face. Hell, I was crying too.

Darry picked up Pony's hand from where it lay limp on the damp grass. He held it in his slightly larger one, seeming almost to cling to it for comfort. He looked so young, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I saw him as what he really was. A youth, like us, forced to become an adult. He was only a kid. He looked so young...

Suddenly, with a deafening crash, the sound of the world cruelly reasserted itself around him. I blinked, wanting it all to go away again. Leave me alone, please...a tear dripped from my nose onto Pony's cheek, and I brushed it away gently. More tears came, obscuring my vision. Somewhere, from deep inside, came the thought 'greasers don't cry'. Fuck that. Hell yeah, they do. Nobody can go through as much pain as I am feeling right now, and not bawl their eyes out. Shoot, if they did, they would be dead inside. And the only greasers I know that follow that mantra I have no urge to be. When something bad happens, if you don't cry and you bottle it up deep inside, your mind breaks, and you do something stupid. Like Dallas Winston.

The sirens roared in my ears. They got louder as an ambulance added it's own noise to the mix. In case you don't know, a police siren sounds different then an ambulance siren. I knew now. The flashing red light blinded me, and I was forced to flinch away momentarily, and take my eyes off my little brother. Go away, go away, can't you tell I just want Pony to live? Oh wait, doctors. They helped, right? The paramedics in their blue jackets pushed through the police towards us. I forced myself to look up, and through the bright lights. There were a few paramedics crouched on the street. What were they doing? Oh God. Dally. Dally was dead.

There were hands on my shoulders, pulling me away. I knew at once that they weren't my friends, I could dimly hear Steve shouting as he tried to shove them off of me. I started to struggle; I could feel tears running down my face uncontrollably. Then someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me away from the grasping arms. I stopped struggling, and realized that I was sobbing. Steve wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his face too dark for me to see. I saw Pony being strapped to a stretcher, and knew the paramedics wouldn't let me near him. I turned back to Steve, and he pulled me into a hug. I sobbed into his shoulder like a baby. I truly didn't give a damn. Steve patted me awkwardly on the back, but didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, and emotions had never really been his thing.

Why was everything falling to pieces?

-- Darry's Point of View --

Confused. Scared. Worried. Nervous. Concerned. Sick.

I'm way too young to be a parent.

When my parents died, I thought I could handle taking care of my two little brothers. How hard could it be? They were both at school all day, so all I'd have to do was feed them and pay the bills. My parents did it easily enough.

How horribly wrong I was. Hospital, funeral, heating, water, electricity, taxes... the bills just stacked up. Money was needed. A lot of it. My summer job, working construction became my full time career. Not one I'd have chosen voluntarily, but it was passable. But it wasn't enough. I got a second job. Still not enough.

At first I was never home. I realize now, that by throwing myself headlong into my responsibilities as an 'adult', I was trying desperately to ignore my pain at my parents' death and my disappointment at the sudden halting crash all my dreams and aspirations had come to. I'd never go to collage, never have a future, and never, ever get to leave Tulsa, Oklahoma. But by burying my own pain in those first few months, I missed what was happening at home.

Ponyboy had always been the most introspective of the three of us. He took the death of our parents hard, and he was so young...He needed someone to comfort him. I was never there. Sodapop was. A rift grew between Pony and me. It had been there before, I guess, but now it was worse. This was different then the run-of-the-mill animosity brothers sometimes shared. Pony and I had never been that close. Now there was a gulf between us. Soda told me in those early nights, when I'd get home past midnight and Pony would already be asleep, and we'd stay up talking, that Pony thought I hated him. I didn't think he was serious. I was wrong.

But I'd had other things to worry about. The gang needed somewhere to crash, as our various home lives took a turn for the worse. Johnny's dad became more violent, and consequently his mother became more drunk. Two-Bit's mom became even more lenient, never once thinking she was being a bad mother. Steve got tired of his dad beating him up. Dally went to jail. Them hanging out at our place was fine, but they tended to eat abhorrent amounts of food. And food cost money. Money that I didn't have.

Then Soda dropped out of high school. He got a job at the DX gas station, a job that Steve helped him get. It made me feel like I had failed, somehow. I couldn't pay the bills by myself; so Soda had to sacrifice his own future to help me. I'd let down my parents, I couldn't handle the responsibility, and I was a joke.

My last chance was Pony. I hadn't failed him yet; he still had a future. If he continued to get good grades, he could get a scholarship to collage, and get out of here. Leave the streets, leave the gangs, and leave Tulsa. But I'd already made a huge mistake. I hadn't listened to Soda earlier on, and Pony and I no longer understood each other. My encouragement for him at school seemed to him like what he was doing now wasn't good enough, and that it could never be enough for me no matter how hard he tried.

But the biggest mistake I had made was hitting Pony. My parents would never have thought I was capable of doing something so over the line. The line was no longer even in sight. Ponyboy ran away. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't have. When Ponyboy wants to run, he can run. Which, in our part of town, is a highly valuable talent. It's saved his neck more times then I can count on one hand. But when Pony ran away, he got into the wrong place at the wrong time.

The result was that the youngest two members of our gang had to hide out in an old church in Windrixville to avoid a murder rap. Which led to the fire. The fire that killed Johnny, and in an indirect way, killed Dally.

And it was all my fault. Chain reactions are a bitch.

Oh, Dally. Lying on the cold pavement, his eyes staring up at the night sky. Dead. Oh God, this wasn't right. I was sobbing, harsh dry sobs that wracked my body and tore the breath from my lungs. I heard Steve let out a wordless cry of pain, but Soda held him back, comforting him.

And that's when I heard Two-Bit's yell.

"Glory, look at the kid!"

It was hard to tear myself away from the scene in front of me. I tried, but it seemed to be burning itself onto the back of my eyes. Then, in my peripheral vision, something moved, was falling, was on the ground...

I forced my eyes away, and saw Soda on his knees beside Pony. Pony, who was limp on the grass with his eyes closed. Pony, who had fainted.

I dropped to my knees on Pony's other side. I watched, feeling broken inside, as Soda, pale and shaking, stroked the face of our unconscious brother. He was crying, just as I was, and at that moment I wanted nothing more then to have Mom and Dad here to hold us all together. They would hug us, kiss the top our heads, and make everything okay again.

Mom, Dad, I'm failing you both so horribly. I'm so sorry. I don't want to have to be strong anymore.

I picked up Pony's hand from where it lay on the grass, clutching it like a lifeline. Steve was beside Soda, his hand on his shoulder, offering support. God damn, but he needed it right now. Hell, I do too.

Two-Bit stood beside me with his face drawn and his eyes full of panic. His hands were shoved deep in his blue jeans' pockets, but I saw his shoulders shaking.

This is all my fault, it was me who caused all this. It was me who hit my little brother, hit him so hard he was pushed back against the door. It was me. This is all because of me.

I closed my eyes briefly. This was too much, way two much. Too many people hurt; too many dying. I raised my hand to run it through my hair and noted with a detached sense of being that it shook like a leaf.

Too young, we were all too young. Soda had tears running down his face and was slightly rocking back and forth, clutching Pony's hand in his. Why us?

People were shouting, there was mass hysteria...passerby, witnesses, the fuzz... Nobody actually cared about the dead man. He was a hood, a criminal, a menace to society. He had pulled his gun on the police, who were sworn to serve and protect. The bastard deserved what he got. They didn't care why he had done what he had done. All they cared about was that their peace and quiet was disturbed, and that for a few seconds, their safety just _might _have been in jeopardy. Police cars had their lights flashing blue and red, the sirens roaring in my ears. A different siren joined the booming noise, the constant whir of the ambulance siren. I glanced up from my brother's pale face to search for the ambulance, and saw it rushing down the street towards us. Some of the street was being blocked off by the fuzz with yellow tape. In the center of the blocked off area, a dark shape. Dally.

The ambulance doors swung open and paramedics in their dark blue uniforms jumped out and pressed through the police. When they reached us they started pulling Steve and Two-Bit away first, then tried to move Soda and me. I didn't want to leave my littlest brother; couldn't they see he was only a kid? I was his guardian; I had failed him so far. I wasn't going to leave him now.

But the doctors were persistent. Cold, serious, professional and persistent. You could tell taking care of a couple of Greasers wasn't high on their scale of importance. There were other, more worth-while things they could be doing with their time. They pulled me away and snatched my hand out of my brother's. They shoved me with white-gloved hands to the side away from where they were trying to bring a stretcher in for Pony. They had gotten me to move forcibly, but only because I refused to give social services a reason for taking my brothers away. That meant not interfering with their 'care'. I could _so_ punch one of those paramedics right now...The blood would rush from his nose as he crumpled to the ground...

But it would only make things worse. For a moment, my control slipped, and my hand twitched. But then it passed, and I was under control again. Mostly.

They were having no such luck with Soda. My little brother refused - just flatly refused - to leave Pony. Soda was struggling with the paramedics, fighting them. I wanted to help him, but I couldn't, he was too far away. But Steve was closer, and he knew that his best friend was fighting a loosing battle. Then Steve was there, pulling him back, his arm around my brother's shoulders.

Soda had tears running down his face, and he was shaking even more than I was. Steve looked at him for a second before pulling him quickly into a hug. My younger brother started bawling onto his best friend's shoulder. It made me want to do the same. But I didn't have anybody's shoulder to lean on.

I turned around and punched a tree as hard as I could. A gasp escaped my throat as my hand met the unresisting wood and came out the loser. I held up my hand in front of my face. My knuckles were badly bruised and blood streamed down my knuckles from where they came into contact with the rough bark. But I didn't care. Somehow, it even made me feel slightly better. That's right, world. I'll mutilate myself. You don't have to bother. You're busy enough as it is, anyhow. I stared at the dark sky, where stars were just starting to come out.

Why did life have to be this so damn hard?

* * *

-- To Be Continued --


	2. Two

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

* * *

Stars glittered in the cold night sky, bright white against the black canvas. Police officers swarmed around a taped-off area in the middle of the street, talking loudly into their large, bulky radios. Static crackled through the air, fighting an epic battle with the sirens that roared through the night. Voices called out to one another, yelling, talking, whispering and screaming. Gaudy lights flashed, lighting the street with brief spurts of colour, drenching everything white, red, or blue. Paramedics streamed from two ambulances, some moving towards the yellow tape, some clustered around a fallen boy. Beside them, a young man was holding another, comforting him, while two others stood by silently.

In the middle of the street, surrounded by the police tape, a young man with white blonde hair lay in a dark pool of blood, oblivious to the events around him. His icy blue eyes were held no spark, but echoed with grim satisfaction. He didn't move as the paramedics pulled a white sheet over his face.

-

-- Two-Bit's Point of View --

Oh God. All right, so I've never before in my life prayed to God. Could ya really blame me? But this could be the one exception, couldn't it? Dally, Johnny... and now Pony. Oh God, if he died, I wouldn't ever forgive myself, I swear. Swear oath-like, not cuss. I shoulda told Darry he was sick, that he was runnin' a fever, that he never shoulda been fighting in that rumble. This was all my fault, I let a goddamn fourteen-year-old with a fever convince me to lie to his brother. And now... Oh fuckin' _God. _

Maybe you ain't supposed to cuss while you're prayin'. I dunno, when Pony and Johnny took us to church that one time, I wasn't really payin' attention. I felt sorta bad about it after, 'cause those two were a bit embarrassed 'n all. I'm not really the prayin' type. But for one time in my life, I wished I were. Maybe it coulda helped or something.

Those paramedics were takin' Pony away. I couldn't watch. Whoo hoo, ain't I just the tuffest greaser you ever seen? My goddamn legs were shakin'. I stumbled over and leaned against a tree, wishing I had my switchblade to play with. At least then I could _look_ like the rough 'n tough JD I spent most wakin' hours being. I closed my eyes, but yells from Soda made me open them again. I ran a shakin' hand through my hair and watched as Soda bawled into Steve's shoulder. I closed my eyes again, when suddenly the tree I was leanin' against jerked, and there was a grunt of pain from the other side. I came around, willin' my stiff legs to move, to the other side of the tree, and saw Darry just standin' there starin' at the sky, blood runnin' down his hand.

Darry suddenly seemed to notice I was there, and looked at me with distracted surprise. I considered wavin', but it didn't feel like the thing just then. He looked back at the sky and I turned to see what he was lookin' at. Wow, the sky, what a surprise. Gee, I've never seen it before. But he still stared at it like it held the keys to the universe's car. I hope it's a mustang. That would be tuff. I woulda waved my hand in front of Darry's face, but my limbs weren't exactly obeyin' me at the moment. That, 'n I had a sneakin' suspicion Darry was about two hairs off sockin' any poor stiff that got in his way.

The slammin' shut of one ambulance door then the other woke me from my daze. Hell, was I tired. I was so out of it. It felt like I had downed a couple beers too many or too few. I looked around, but didn't see Darry. In fact, I didn't see Soda either. Where'd they go? The ambulance rumbled off down the road. Oh. They were in the ambulance with their brother. Sometimes I wonder at my own stupidity. Ah well.

Steve stood watchin' the ambulance go, a serious expression on his face. Sometime since we'd gone runnin' out the Curtis' door he had managed to button up shirt over his bandages. Well, tried too anyhow. He'd missed a button somewhere, and his shirt was uneven, one side hangin' lower then the other. I could still see the top edge of his white bandages. Those ribs must be hurtin' him somethin' awful. I walked, well, dragged myself over to him and fumbled in my pockets for a smoke. They had to be here somewhere. Steve turned to me, and I stopped all searchin' and stared at him. There were tears runnin' down his face.

But...This was Steve. Steve, Hi-My-Name-Is-Steve-The-Hood-I-Steal-Hubcaps Steve. Why the hell was he cryin'?

"Why the hell are you cryin'?" Steve asked me. What the fuck?

"What you woofin' about?" I mumbled. "I ain't the one bawlin' my eyes out." He looked confused. Shit, I probably did too.

"Well I sure ain't cryin'." Steve said, lookin' at me strangely.

"Well, me neither." I muttered.

"You're both crying like babies." A police officer said as he walked past. We both stared after him then looked back at each other.

"Oh." Steve said quietly. We stood like that awhile. Now that I realized it, I did have tears streamin' down my face. Like I said, I'm the not the smartest banana of the bunch. Nope, I'll leave that for Darry 'n Pony, when he got better. He had to get better.

"You up for kickin' that fuzz's ass?" I asked cheerfully in way of what I hoped qualified as conversation.

Steve snorted.

"I would've been all over that bastard, but somehow spendin' the night in jail wouldn' a made this night any more fun."

I shrugged. "It could'a." But I was jokin'. Again. See, sometimes gettin' in my two-bits-worth in is all I have. My name is proof of that.

"You want a ride to the hospital?" I asked Steve. He glanced once more back at the dark figure in the street, now being carried into an ambulance, completely covered. He looked back at me and nodded.

-- Soda's Point of View --

I hate ambulances. I hate hospitals, too, but at the moment it was the ambulance that took top prize. Actually, I hate all medical facilities. They give me the creeps. This ambulance, particularly, I was not too fond of. If I had a baseball bat, I would have put it out of its misery. Imagine a tight, enclosed space filled with machines that beep, things that look sharp and pointy, loads of crap that looks important and way, way to many people. What with Pony, Darry, Me, two paramedics, the driver and a guy who was doing nothing constructive whatsoever but play with the machines, the place was a little crowded. Shoot, an ambulance is just a glorified box, there shouldn't be this much shit shoved in it. And I was still burning mad at them for forcing me away from my brother to 'examine' him. All right, so they let me come back. But still.

Although, now I think about it, if I were them, I wouldn't let me come back. I wasn't being, how Darry described it as we were climbing into the ambulance, 'cooperative'. Damn, so I was being annoying as hell, but I just wanted to protect my little brother, and goddamn it, that's what I was gunna do. No random man with just a little badge saying 'M.D.' is going to force me around.

Common honey. Be all right. You always are. You gotta be. Please don't just lie there...

The ride to the hospital was at the same time endless and brief. I don't know. I couldn't have told you if it was a minute or an hour. I was here. Pony was unconscious. That pretty much summed up the situation from my point of view. And my annoyance for the paramedics just grew. They poked and they prodded. Then they poked and prodded some more. Then, after waiting a grand total of about three seconds, they went back and poked and prodded some more, just for good measure. I could've sworn they were doing nothing helpful. Or maybe they were. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention to specifics.

I didn't say anything out loud the whole ride there. I didn't trust myself to speak. I just sat there, holding my little brother's hand hoping he would wake up and tell me he was okay. He didn't. Darry held his other hand, looking at me ever once in awhile with a face like stone and pointed looks that I think were meant for me not to start jumping any healthcare workers. He might've been saying something to the paramedics; I wasn't listening. He didn't say anything to me, I don't think. Not that I remember, anyway.

When the ambulance pulled to a stop, the doors swung open and Pony's stretcher was outside before I could even blink. I moved to leap out and follow them, but I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Darry. I watched Pony's stretcher move away through the doors marked 'Emergency' and out of sight. I could still feel his hand in mine. Tears were running down my face again. Damn.

Suddenly, Darry was holding me, crushing my face against his chest. I didn't care. People walking by the entrance to the hospital were staring at us. I still didn't care. I didn't hear the ambulance leave. Darry's chest was shaking under my chest, and I knew he was crying too. I wrapped my arms around him, wondering if I was going to be able to let go again.

Dallas Winston and Jonathan Cade were dead. I would never talk to them, laugh with them or fight with them again. They wouldn't walk into our house every morning to sample some famous Curtis chocolate breakfast cake. They wouldn't throw things in our living room or go to the drive in, or sit through one of Pony's dull movies just to make the kid happy. They were gone. They were dead.

I knew, then, that I had been focusing on Pony so that I wouldn't have to accept their deaths. He was immediate, he was in danger, and I could block everything out in my haze of brotherly concern. But now he was gone, out of sight, and you better believe I was worrying about him. But he couldn't be my curtain anymore. Now it felt like everything was hitting me like a ton of bricks.

The gang was going to be different after this. Things could never be the same. Pony better hang in there, for the gang's sake. Darry wouldn't be able to handle it if... anything happened.

Neither could I.

-- Darry's Point of View --

Eventually, Soda and I went inside. He stayed close behind me, and I was thankful for that. I felt I needed to keep him close to me, to keep making sure he was okay. And he thought I was overprotective before. It was more then that though. I needed him as reassurance that I wasn't a complete failure as a guardian. It would really matter, though. One out of two brothers kept safe is a pretty damn awful statistic.

I needed Soda. I would never admit it out loud, but it was true. Sure, I had the gang- or (as I thought morbidly) what was left of it. But I didn't have my parents anymore, and my dad used to be my best friend. Any other friends I used to have are now Socs, or have forgotten all about me. I guess that's what happens when you don't talk to them for eight months. That you're working two jobs to support your brothers doesn't matter to them, I guess. They hadn't looked me up, either, so I guess they weren't as good friends as I thought they were. Now Johnny and Dally were gone, which left Two-Bit, Steve and my brothers as the only people who gave a damn what I did. I needed Soda, because Soda was the only one who really understood me. Soda understood everybody.

Right now, I needed Soda, because I felt alone.

We found the waiting room. I left Soda in a hard plastic chair that looked like it would eat the sitter's ass alive, and went to find where I was supposed to be filling out forms. There were always forms to be filled out. It was part of life, I guess. It didn't matter why; there was always a good excuse for filling out a few forms. Births, deaths, hospital visits, bills, insurance, work, school, cars, censuses, guardianship, legal papers, permission slips... Hell, I was the paperwork expert. I found a nurse, and asked her in ten words or less where I was supposed to go. I wasn't feeling very talkative. Turns out, the desk had been clearly marked, and I had just missed it.

I took the clipboard the receptionist handed me and wondered back to where Soda was sitting slumped over in his chair. I collapsed beside him, and glared down at the admission form.

"_Legal Name: Ponyboy Michael Curtis " _They always liked that one. I wrote in his height and hair colour as neatly as I could. My hands were still shaking. Peroxide blonde, damn, I forgot. I had to cross out the reddish-brown I had written in there already. I rubbed my eyes with one hand, trying to focus. Soda managed to lie down on the chairs and put his head in my lap. I stroked his hair absently for a minute, then got back to the form.

"_Age:_" My mind blanked. Oh god, if those social workers saw me now, I'd lose my guardianship in a minute. How old was Pony?

_We'd had a cake. A chocolate one, from the icebox, made without Soda's 'extra touch' of too much sugar in the icing. We actually followed the recipe, for the first time since-... _

_Soda and I had carefully lined up fourteen candles in what were, much to our dismay, painfully uneven circles. We had been in a rush, because I'd only just gotten home from work, and we had to figure out the candles before Ponyboy got home from track, which would be any minute. Getting Sodapop to concentrate long enough not to mess up the cake was a challenge only made more difficult by Steve throwing various things at him. Two-Bit was watching television as loud as he possibly could and on his second bottle of beer. Johnny was staring off into space, thinking about god-knows-what in the way that only him and Pony can. Dally was still in the cooler, and would be for another month and a half. _

_It was the first time my brothers and I had celebrated one of our birthdays without our parents. Soda had told me Pony was having a difficult time with it, and had started to cry the night before when he thought Soda was asleep. Soda explained to me how he had decided to pretend to be asleep still, because he didn't want to embarrass Pony. We had all silently and unanimously decided to try extra hard for Pony this year, but somehow it didn't come through as much as we wanted it too. I had tried to get off early, but my boss told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way that was possible. Also, we needed the money. _

_The gang knew about Pony's birthday, and had all gotten him presents, which I knew would surprise him immensely. The look on the kid's face would be worth all the trouble we put into the preparation. The quality of those presents I wasn't too sure of, but I knew Pony wouldn't mind. Two-Bit had procured a box of Kools, and I had a feeling it was by no legal means. Steve had gotten my little brother a dirty magazine, which I'd only let him give him because I could just imagine how red his ears would turn when he opened the centerfold. I'd had to promise to Steve and Two-Bit (it went without saying the later was a part of this) to pretend I didn't know, because apparently it would heighten the amusement to see him attempt to hide it from me. I didn't disagree. Johnny had gotten him a book, which I think he had acquired with the help of Two-Bit's talents, since I knew for a fact the kid had no money. Soda had bought him no less then three sixteen-ounce bottles of Pepsi, which would satisfy Pony's addiction for about two days. _

_I had been at loss at what to get him, but had finally settled on a pair of second-hand but hardly worn shoes. I knew his were depleted to the point of no return from track, and Soda promised me he would love them. I personally thought it was a lame gift, but he needed them, and I had put money aside for a month to pay for them. _

"Which one of you should I take first?"

I jerked my head up from where it had been resting against the wall behind me. I must have drifted off, as insane as that thought seems now. Soda was asleep, his head still on my lap. I looked up, blinking and disoriented, at the bored doctor that was peering tiredly down at me through glasses.

"Pardon me?" I asked, thoroughly confused. I shoved a hand through my tangled mat of hair.

"You or that other fellow. Who would you like me to look at first?" He sounded annoyed now.

"Me or..." I trailed off, looking at Soda as if for the first time. He was in the torn, dirty and bloody clothes he had worn to the rumble, which hadn't been all that respectable looking in the first place. His face wasn't much better, it was dirt stained and tear-streaked, one cheek blackened with a bruise and his lip split open down the middle. His hair was in a complicated state of disarray, slick with grease and hanging down his forehead sweaty tendrils. He looked a lot younger at the moment then he had in years, except maybe when he had heard about Sandy...

I couldn't have looked much better. My 'rumble clothes' were not exactly things I'd consider wearing to any major public places. A torn, skintight black shirt that was now filthy beyond comprehension, a pair of ripped work jeans... My face must be just as dirty as Soda's, and I knew from when we'd been waiting for Pony back at home that I had a black eye and a cut on my forehead. And my damn hand was bleeding all over my pen from where I'd ever-so-brilliantly smacked a tree.

Two young hoods, beaten to high hell, sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, filling out an admission form. Right, so maybe I did get where this doctor was coming from.

"We're waiting for our brother." I told him, almost wincing at the pathetic surprise on his face that he wasn't supposed to be treating us. "He came in not too long ago in an ambulance, have you heard anything about him?" I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice.

"No." He answered, his voice solid. Now released from any form of professional conduct towards patients, he gave us a look of complete disgust. Obviously thinking of the many other, more important patients he undoubtedly had whom contributed positively to society, he left quickly. Excellent. Exactly the type of person I want to entrust my little brother's welfare too.

My stomach twisted violently at the thought of Ponyboy. I shook my head slightly to concentrate, then looked back down at the form. I wiped my bloody hand absently on my jeans, and readjusted my grip on my pen.

_"Age:" _Age. _Fourteen candles. _He was fourteen, and had been for just over a month. Was he only fourteen? It seemed too hard to believe. I forgot a lot just how old the kid was, because he never acted his age. He was a year ahead in school, and smart as all get-out. I guess that because he hung out with older kids so much, he had lost the immaturity of childhood early. Sure, to the gang he always was and would be the youngest, the kid brother. But that was as much about his age as the fact that he was mine and Soda's little brother, the youngest Curtis. I got on his case a lot about not using his head because... well, because I worried about him so much, and expected too much of him. Like I said, I forgot his age a lot.

When I was fourteen, I complained constantly to my parents about having to baby-sit an eleven year old and eight year old when I wanted to be out playing football with my friends from school. Family was annoying and a hassle, and got in the way of having fun.

This time, I did wince. I was way more immature then than he is now. And Soda... well, Soda at fourteen was mostly the same as he was now, but a lot more irresponsible and impressionable. Pony beat Soda in that aspect as well.

Note to Darry: Seriously lay off Ponyboy in the near future. He's fourteen, barely a teenager, he's liable to make a few mistakes.

I looked back at the form with a little apprehension. I knew what was coming.

_"Symptom(s): Collapse." _I didn't exactly know what else to call it. Sure, he'd taken a beating, we all had, but there was more too it, I knew. I just didn't know what, exactly. Or how to put it down on paper.

_"Cause of injuries:_" Damn. I could practically feel the social workers reading over my shoulder.

"_Shock." _Well, it wasn't a complete lie. He _had _been in shock, we all had. The fact that both he and us were beaten up would have to be explained in person. Fuck, the social workers were going to have a field day.

_"Medical History: Burns on body and bruise on back from incident yesterday."_ Lordy, was it only yesterday? We had been in this hospital just last night to pick up Pony and wait for any news on Johnny and Dally. I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought of them, but forced myself to concentrate on the matter at hand. It seemed like a lifetime since we got the call that Pony was in the hospital. In any case, I was thankful that there was nothing else in the medical history section for me to write down.

I filled out the rest, barely thinking. Social number, insurance number (or lack thereof, in our case) and other various information that that the writer of these forms must thrive on.

"_Parent/Legal Guardian: Darrel Shaynne Curtis, Jr_." I signed my name at the bottom with relish. I still felt the same thrill of relief whenever I signed something as my brothers' legal guardian. I guess you treasure things that you fight so hard for.

I regretted having to wake Soda up, but it had to be done. He looked so peaceful. Neither he nor I had gotten much sleep since I hit Pony. The memory hurt almost as much as the act had. Never had I felt so thoroughly disgusted with myself.

I gently smoothed Soda's greasy hair off his forehead. "Pepsi-Cola," I called softly. "You're gunna be late for work."

"Wha-?" His eyes opened out of habit, and he blinked tiredly up at me. I smiled at him with what strength I could muster.

"You've got to come with me. We need to clean up or these doctors are either going to forcibly treat us or kick us out."

Soda didn't answer me, just yawned painfully. He slumped in his chair as I delivered the admission form to receptionist. She didn't condescend to look at me as she accepted it.

I almost had to drag Soda to the nearest restroom. Once we got there, and after a few person details had been taken care of, we both stared in the mirrors.

Soda whistled. "Will ya get a load of us."

"Shut up and groom."

It didn't surprise me in the least that the first thing Soda fixed was his hair, or that he had a comb in his back pocket. I settled for splashing surprisingly cold water on my face. Sure, we had bandaged ourselves back at the house, but we hadn't changed or showered. It was more of a quick fix, since our minds had been on other things, namely the missing members of our gang.

My hand was still bleeding pretty fiercely. I wrapped it in paper towel, set my teeth and pressed down on my knuckles hard for a minute until it stopped. Soda was inspecting his lip with a sort of amused interest. "Tough," He smirked, and I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. I swiped his comb and made my hair in some semblance of presentable.

Our clothes were a lost cause. I brushed some of the dirt off, and made Soda do the same to his. This completed, I contemplated the result of our efforts on our spruced up selves in the mirror. We looked a little better, but not much. We were still cut up and bruised, but less filthy and bloody. Our hair was combed back, but the sweat, grease and oil made it look like greaser hair all the same. Our shirts were ripped and stained, but that was beyond our control at the moment. Basically, we looked like hoods, albeit clean ones.

I motioned for the door, and Soda followed me out, back to the waiting rooms. We sat back down in the chairs and settled ourselves for the wait.

* * *

-- To Be Continued --


	3. Three

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

* * *

The two young men walked down the street lamp lit sidewalk purposefully, as if they couldn't wait until they reached their destination. The moon hung in the dark night sky, its pale luminescence partly hidden by a drifting screen of charcoal clouds. Surrounding the boys on both sides were two looming walls of houses, as if the two of them were walking through a deserted canyon. The curtains were pulled shut, and all the lights were out. Here and there a tiny golden beam escaped the confines of the heavy curtains and sprayed out onto the street, lighting up a section of mangy gray pavement.

One of the boys was steadily drifting further and further behind. The boy in front didn't seem to notice, and continued to flick the little doors open on all the mailboxes he passed. There was a cut almost the length of the rusty-colored sideburn next to it running down the side of his face. It looked hastily stitched up, but any bandage that might have accompanied it had long since been discarded. A grimy bandage was wrapped around his hand, thick with dirt and marked slightly with blood.

The boy falling behind stopped suddenly, and leant over, his arm reflexively wrapping around his chest, as if protecting it from some unseen assailant. His thick dark hair hung over his pain-creased forehead, the strands greasy and long. His messily buttoned up shirt had fallen open, revealing the bandage wrapped around his chest. His breath came in gasps and chokes, the agony he felt showing on every line in his face. Then, as abruptly as it came, it was gone, like a door slamming shut. He stood up, forced his arm to his side, and walked stiffly on after the boy ahead of him.

-- Steve's Point of View --

Fuck, but broken ribs hurt. I would've been all right; it was worth it to beat those sonsofbitches Socs' heads in. But no, I had to go gallivantin' all over Tulsa.

Damn, I was falling behind again. My ribs were burning; it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move...hell, it hurt just standing completely still without breathing at all. I just couldn't win. It was only two blocks to Two-Bit's house, and I was starting to think I might die first.

Two-Bit knew how much trouble I was having, he was much to antsy about getting to his house to pick up his car and drive to the hospital than to slow himself down by playing with those mailboxes. He knows I'd just lie about it if he asked me, so he's pretending that he doesn't notice. He's a good buddy to have.

After what seemed like fifty years, we reached Two-Bit's house. Shit! I had forgotten there were stairs to the front porch. By the time I had dragged myself up the stairs and into the house, Two-Bit had run off somewhere down the hall. Fine with me. I collapsed on his couch and dragged a pillow over my head to keep out such damn annoying things as light and sound.

...There were fingers on my bare chest.

I lashed out, snatching the wrist in my fist, half-sitting up and hissing from the pain. The smirking blue eyes of Stacie Matthews gazed coyly at me from under her fluttering heavily mascara-ed eyelashes. I released her thin wrist, which I noted (with very little concern) had red marks on it from where my fingers had been placed. I sunk back down on the couch.

"What do you want?" I snapped. I was in no mood for her. Hell, I was never in a mood for her.

"Did you win the rumble?" Her voice was purposefully lowered, and her fingers were inching back towards my bare chest. I quickly did up my shirt, stifling a groan.

Unfortunately, this further evasive action did nothing to sway her attention off my chest and me. She sat down carefully near my feet. Damn, would you leave me alone, woman?

And I used that word as loosely as possible. Stacie Matthews was twelve.

Her real name was Stephanie, but for some reason one day she had decided she liked the name Stacie better. She was probably just jealous her brother Keith had such a cool nickname as 'Two-Bit'. Whatever. She hung out with other girls from our side of town, most of them older than her, and was a bona fide greaser gal in the making. She wore short skirts, low blouses and enough makeup to drown a small animal. Some of the stories I heard about her from drunken guys at parties made my skin crawl. That's not my scene. I'll take my girls past puberty, thank you.

It bothered Two-Bit that his sister was such a whore, but he'd tried for years to get her to dig a word he said. Nothing happening, any advice went in one ear and out the other. I think the only thing she ever learned from him was his shoplifting talent. Unfortunately, she didn't adopt his sense of humor. They have different dads, so they were never really that close to begin with.

Anyway, as far as kids I hate go, Stacie's right up there.

"Yeah, we won." I muttered, wondering where Two-Bit was.

"Did you get hurt?" She literally purred, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout.

"What the hell do you think?" I was in pain, and dealing with dirty twelve-year-olds wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to do right now. We needed to get to the hospital... And I refused to think about my other two friends who wouldn't be meeting us there.

_"There's nothing we can do now."_

Soda's words stuck in my head, repeating over and over. I closed my eyes, and I could feel the beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead.

"Stevie?" She sounded a little uncertain now. Good, you godawful slut.

"Stacie, leave Steve the hell alone. Where the fuck are my goddamn car keys?" Two-Bit fumed, walking through the living room, one hand running agitatedly through his rusty hair. Stacie leaned back against the sofa and pouted some more.

"You had them at school yesterday, didn't you?" Mrs. Matthews called from the kitchen, paying no mind to her son's mouth.

"I didn't go to school yesterday." Two-Bit answered absently, looking frustrated. He whirled around and stalked back down the hall.

Two-Bit's mother appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, an exasperated look on her face. I knew she wouldn't punish Two-Bit. I swear she'd let her son get away with murder. She's wasn't oblivious to her children's antics, she just didn't bother to put a stop to them. I liked her fine; she was nice to all of us. She was a worn-looking woman in her mid-forties that reminded me of Betty Crocker, always wearing an apron and offering cookies.

"Ah-hah!" Came the victorious shout from the hallway. "We're outta here, Stevie-boy."

That was good enough for me. I forced myself to my feet, clenching my teeth against the sharp pain and the rush of blood leaving my head. My vision went gray around the edges, and the world spun lazily around. I had to reach out an arm for the armchair to steady myself. Stacie moved to come near me, but I gave her the best glare I could come up with at the moment. The amount of pain I was in must have shown through, because Stacie actually shrank back. This made me extremely proud.

"Are you all right, Steve honey?" Mrs. Matthews looked undecided on whether to smother me in blankets or baked goods. The concerned look on her face was nice to see, but I shook my head stiffly.

"No, we've got to get to the hospital." I started towards the door, my arm wrapped around my chest.

"Why?" Came the sharp inquiry from Two-Bit's mom. She had frozen where she stood; the hand towel she had been wringing in her hands paused in mid-motion. I suddenly remembered that Two-Bit hadn't told her anything. Stacie looked torn between pouting some more and actually showing concern; but such a human show of emotion like that was only a momentary slip, and she was back to her usual, slutty self in the blink of an eye.

"Pony. Johnny and Dally are dead."

I followed Two-Bit out the door. As I threw myself down the stairs, I heard Mrs. Matthews break into hysterical sobbing. I know that was harsh, but I felt sort of numb still, like it almost wasn't true and only a bad dream. My voice was ringing in my ears, it had been cold and tough, as if I didn't care at all. I did, but... I didn't want to think about it right now.

I swung open the door to Two-Bit's car and collapsed onto the passenger seat. He was twisting the key repeatedly, hoping for the hunk of junk to roar to life. He didn't even bother to look at me, much less ask me to give him a push-start. I guess that was fine with me, but I was a little disappointed to lose the opportunity to vent my pain in curse words. With noises that sounding nothing like a car but more like a wounded beast, it started to roll forwards. Two-Bit swung it onto the road with screeching tires, and slammed his foot down on the acceleration. I leant my head back on the headrest and my eyes slipped shut.

All of a sudden, we were swinging in a tight turn and bounding up on the sidewalk, the back of the car hitting the pavement with a bang. Then we were down, whipping around another turn. My eyes were wide open by this point, both my hands gripping the seat beneath me with all I had. ...The hell? I knew we were in a rush to get to the hospital, but I didn't particularly want to get there in a body bag, either.

As we roared past a stop sign, I noticed the car was only speeding up. Then, as we clamored around a sharp turn, I could see a traffic light in front of us, the light blinking red. There was a line up of cars in front of us, no more then fifty feet away. I started screaming expletives, exercising my extensive vocabulary. Beside me, Two-Bit removed his foot from the accelerator for the first time and slammed it with all his strength onto the brakes.

With a wail not unlike a dying cat, the car barreled towards certain disaster. I noticed with a detached sense of wonder that we were slowing down. I think I heard Two-Bit screaming right along with me. We got closer (the people in the cars were turning around, wondering where the infernal noise was coming from), closer (oh god, they see us, glory but they look scared), closer (I'm going to goddamn die), and-

Came to a stop.

The whiplash just about did me in. It threw me forwards, but I was holding on tight enough to my seat that I only crashed back against the seat instead of through the windshield. I saw stars for a moment, unable to breathe because of the pain in my chest. Two-Bit was leaning his head against the steering wheel where it was cushioned by his hands. The car bounced back and forth on its tires, the fender of our car brushing the back end of the one in front of us.

When I found my voice, it was rough from all the screaming I'd been doing. "JESUS CHRIST, TWO-BIT! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR GODDAMN CAR!" This didn't exactly help my throat much.

Two-Bit looked up at me and grinned brightly. My heart sank. "The brakes ain't working." Well no fucking kidding!

"WHY HAVEN'T YOU GOTTEN IT FIXED YET!" I was still mightily pissed off. I could have punched that sonofabitch sitting next to me, if I thought I could lift my arms. Unfortunately, my chest hurt too much for any sort of movement.

He shrugged, still grinning at me. There were shouts from the cars in front of us, but I didn't care.

"It only happened last night." His foot slid to the accelerator. The cars in front of us started to inch forwards as the traffic light slid from red to green. I glared at him.

"I hate you."

The bastard laughed.

-- Soda's Point of View --

So I've come to a few conclusions since I've been in this hospital, waiting for the stupid doctors and annoying nurses to tell me anything about my little brother.

One, is that I fucking hate hospitals. They smell bad. What do they smell like? Well, the thick scent of industrial-strength cleaning products is the most noticeable, followed by the subtler tones of urine, vomit and pus. The always-appetizing aroma of stale sweat and bad breath sort of drifts into the mix as well. And, of course, the low, heavy base note: the rich and ever-present smell of blood. The result is a nauseating bouquet that tastes like fear, sickness and death. Not exactly comforting.

They are also too clean. You know, clean like someone who wipes his switchblade down five times to get rid of any remaining traces of blood. Clean like they've got something to hide. I can almost imagine every square inch of scrubbed floor and wall dripping with blood. Again, not totally comforting.

Hospitals seem to almost swarm with people. People pacing back and forth in agitation, people sobbing from just receiving bad news, people arguing with doctors about when they could see their loved ones, people walking to the cafeteria or the restroom, people coming in to the hospital, people going out... And don't forget the medical personnel. Doctors strolling past with determined strides, hoping to avoid the anxious hoards of people in the waiting room. Interns scurrying here and there, staring at clipboards and not looking where they're going. Nurses, their little white caps placed ever-so-correctly on their heads, busily going about their business without a second thought for anything. Receptionists answering phones with rapidly recited phrases and curtly answering the public's various questions. Orderlies walking towards their destinations with an air of determination. Police officers and security guards glancing from side to side suspiciously as they head towards the exits, done escorting their charges or patrolling the halls. And, most disconcerting of all, people being rushed down the hall on stretchers by paramedics, in varying stages of distress. I guess the middle of the night on a Saturday is a busy time for hospitals.

It was enough to drive someone crazy. Darry and I were an itty-bitty island in the middle of all this chaos.

Two, that I am extremely worried about Pony. Not a single doctor or nurse has come to give us any news at all. My stomach is rolling uncomfortably, and my heart seems to be shoved somewhere in the general region of my throat. I'm trying so hard to keep from panicking, and I'm not totally sure that it's working. My heart is beating like crazy still, and it seems like we've been here for years. It's probably only been an hour or two, but it seems like a lifetime. If I thought I couldn't sit still before, then this was ridiculous. My hand keeps bouncing against my leg, and my foot keeps tapping on the floor. I can't get comfortable, and I know Darry is about three seconds away from throttling me. I've already gotten up and wondered around for as long as I could stand it. There were just too many things going on in this damn place. I'm stressed out, to say the least. If we don't get any news soon I think I might explode from concern. I have the worst-case scenario playing out over and over inside my head...

If this is how Darry feels every time Pony or I get home late, I can understand how he's going gray at age twenty. He's doing just about as well as I'm doing right now, which is not saying much. He has a more self-contained way of showing it, though. I almost pitied the last doctor who shied away from us. He got one look at Darry's eyes and headed the other way. Almost.

Three, was that the roofs of hospitals were undeniably boring. I mean, come on, they're white. How exciting is that? Guess what else is white? The walls. And the floor. And...everything's else. It's like being inside a mental institution, except that at least there they have pink walls. I think, anyway, I've never actually been to one. I guy I know who has, though, and that's what he told me. Then again, he was slightly crazy, so how much should I be listening to what he has to say?

I was considering this latest point, when I heard voices from down the corridor.

"-They ain't gunna notice."

"What the hell are you talking about, of course they're going to notice a car sticking out of the bushes!"

"It's the middle of the night. They got better things to do then write up parkin' violations."

"That wasn't a parking violation! That was a fuckin' nightmare..."

I sprang up from my slumped position in my chair. Darry glanced at me warily, as if expecting me to start shrieking or something. I pointed towards the hall, where Steve and Two-Bit were coming through the doorway.

Steve looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them, his entire face drawn in pain. His arm was wrapped protectively around his chest, where I knew his ribs were broken. They must be killing him right now. He looked on the verge of collapse. Two-Bit wasn't much better. He looked haggard and worn, bruised and bloody. As they looked up and saw Darry and me, their faces dropped as if seeing us reminded them why there were here.

Darry was gently pushing Steve towards a chair, and the fact that he didn't protest at all was a sign of how badly off he really was.

"How's the kid?" Two-Bit asked me, real concern shining in his eyes.

I put my face in my hands and scrubbed as hard as I could. "We don't know. We don't know anything. Not a single thing..."

Two-Bit must have caught the look that I know Darry must have shot him, or maybe he just realized how close to hysterics I was.

"He'll be okay, man. Pony's tough." He tried to sound reassuring, but it fell flat. Good ol' Two-Bit. At least he tried.

Darry was beside me, rubbing my back. It made me feel like I was about six, but it wasn't an unwelcome feeling. I stared at the white linoleum floor between my fingers, trying not to bawl like a baby.

"Mr. Curtis?"

Darry and I were on our feet in a blink of an eye. Two men in white coats stood in front of us, the busy blur of the hospital activity continuing behind them. One was big, broad shouldered and gray-haired, his eyes cold and hard. He was holding a file open in front of him, and I didn't need to look at the tag on the side to know it was Pony's. Beside him, there was tall, slender young man with brown hair that looked only a few years older than Darry. He didn't look nearly as intimidating as the man beside him, but his face was serious. I crossed my arms over my chest, and was thankful for Darry's solid presence against my shoulder.

" Mr. Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr.?" The gray-haired man clarified, looking between the two of us. I got the hint, but I didn't move.

"That's me." Darry's voice was short and clipped. I glanced at him, and was relieved to see he was keeping it together. Good, somebody had to.

"My name is Doctor Field." The old man started. "And this is Doctor Brenton, who's interning at Tulsa General." No glance was spared for the younger man beside him. The intern didn't seem to mind though, and was looking at Darry and me intently. "He will be helping me with the care of your brother," His eyes scanned the folder in front of him. His thick gray eyebrows drew together. "Ponyboy." You could almost feel the disapproval radiating from him.

"Is he gunna be okay?" I blurted before I could stop myself. The intern smiled slightly at me in reassurance.

"Your brother," Doctor Field seemed determined not to refer to him by his name. "Is suffering from shock, exhaustion and a concussion. Some good rest and fluids should take care of the first two, but it's the concussion I'm worried about. He's taken a strong blow to the head, and we won't know the severity until any other symptoms start to show up. I'd like to keep him in the hospital for a few hours for observation. He also is heavily bruised, so we need to be on the lookout for internal bleeding."

Darry nodded. I was still waiting for the part where they would tell me I could see my little brother. It had to come soon.

"We're running a few tests on him at the moment, but we'll contact you when you can see him."

Goddammit.

While I was trying not to inflict bodily harm on any doctors, Darry was asking a few questions. Soon Field was walking away. Good riddence. Huh, funny to think just a few minutes ago I'd been waiting for one of these doctors to show up, now I was wishing they were gone.

"Are you Soda?" It was the damn intern. What was his name? Oh right, Doctor Brenton. I swear he was too young to be finished medical school already.

"Yes." I sounded like a four-year-old who was just refused candy. I was getting a headache.

"You're brother's been asking for you."

That startled me. "What, is he awake?" I asked quickly, my voice full of a ridiculous amount of hope. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rest of the gang come up behind me, wanting to hear.

"No, but he was muttering as we checked him over." Brenton explained. I tried unsuccessfully not to show my disappointment. "At first we thought he just wanted a Pepsi, but then we understood that you were his brother." He looked almost apologetic.

Darry thanked him, and I failed my attempt to smile at him in return.

"It'll be okay, Soda." Steve murmured, throwing an arm around my shoulders as I sat down beside him. His eyes were closed, and his head was leaning against the wall behind him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes as well.

_I hope you're okay, Pony. I miss you. _

* * *

-- To Be Continued --

Author's Notes: The fourth chapter is on its way! So, was this better or worse? Your reviews would be greatly appreciated. :)


	4. Four

Author's Notes: Well, here's the fourth chapter! Thank you so much, everybody who reviewed. Hell, everybody who read and didn't review, I still appreciate your time:) Please do review though, because you could have some great comments or suggestions that I may really need to hear!

Some quick replies to the reviewers: Phaerie-Mage1313 – Good to know that the writing improved. :) Makes all the time I spent rewriting worth it to hear somebody say that, DonnyLuvr – Thank you! I'm glad to hear that you didn't keel over, Messalina – Thanks, Lady Rose 05 – I did put major effort into it, so it's good to know that it showed through! Thanks for saying so! Kimmerkay – Just reading your screen name made me ecstatic. I think my exact words were 'Hey! Someone I know!' The lengths you went to, to read chapter three were beyond admirable, they were awe-inspiring. I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble:) It's also great that you mentioned the sad/humor mix; although I love drama my writing always seems to be leaning towards humor. I have no idea why, that's just the way the events play out in my head. Hopefully I'll keep the balance, and it doesn't sway too much one way or the other! I'm glad you liked the intern… You'll be hearing more from him in a bit. Don't worry; I love your rambling. Thanks so much for the input, Silverstagbeauty – Thanks, IamOnlyMe – Thank you! It's good to know my attempts to stay in character were successful! Hopefully they stay that way… :), BratPackFan1985 – Hahaha. Well, this is just my version of the infamous Stacie Matthews, I'm sure there are many fics out there where she is a nice, sweet little girl. ;) Hopefully she hasn't turned you off Two-Bit's sister fics altogether!.

Oh dear. Well, I tried to make it quick. Enjoy the new chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

* * *

Dawn broke through the darkness of night silently, giving no warning to its arrival until bright beams of golden-red hues spread over the skyline of Tulsa's cityscape, signaling its unmistakable presence. Rose, cerise and tangerine were painted in broad, vivid strokes across the deep cobalt sky. At the center of it all, a glowing curve just peaked over the buildings and trees, searing through the cloudless sky in indescribable shades of champagne brilliance.

Glimmering beams crawled over the storefronts and parked cars down the main street. They peered in windows and gathered round parking meters; searched out the shiny burger wrappers strewn on the concrete and dripped into storm drains. Creeping gently, their touch unfelt but for the warmth left by their wandering fingers, they approached a large, sprawling building covered in grimy windows with cheap and ineffective curtains. The rays seeped through a gap on one of the second floor rooms, drifting past the yellow striped drapes effortlessly. They climbed over the eggshell linoleum and reached up onto the white sheets of a bed. They passed a slim, pale wrist marked with tape and long, thin tubes spreading like tiny writhing snakes outwards. They pushed onwards, finally resting on a boy's sleeping face, lighting him with the gentle glow of morning.

His face was glistening with sweat, his peroxide blonde hair dark against the whiteness of the pillow and his forehead creased with pain. His hands at his sides suddenly clenched shut, and his head rolled with the finest of movements to the side, then back again. Suddenly, his arm jerked, and he twisted to one side, eyes shut and moving frantically under the lids. He rolled weakly onto his back once more, and his head tilted at an angle. His lips were moving, silent, then gaining volume.

"...Soda..._Help..._" His voice was thick with exhaustion and emotional agony. "...please...Darry?..."

A tear rolled down from his shut eyelids, only to be absorbed by the starched and unfeeling white material of the pillowcase.

Out the door, down two halls, a flight of stairs and another hallway, four boys sat in a waiting room.

-

-- Darry's Point of View --

"Darry, why are hospitals white?" Soda asked lazily from where his head was cushioned on my lap.

I leant my head back against the smooth, cool (and the aforementioned white) surface of the wall behind me and closed my eyes. There was a consistent ache in the middle of my forehead, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. There was an even stronger one in my chest, sharp knives of worry and guilt stabbing me every few seconds. For a moment I considered answering Soda's inquiry with a vague 'because', but then I came to the realization that this would only prompt him to ask another, perhaps even more unanswerable question.

"It's supposed to be soothing. To calm everybody down and look clean and sterile." My voice was deep with fatigue, and my mouth was almost painfully dry.

"I ain't soothed." Steve muttered from a few seats down. I could see him in my mind's eye, slouched down painfully in his chair and glaring at the wall.

"Why don't they paint it?" Soda wondered out loud. He was bored. We all were. But for a kid who couldn't sit still to save his life, Soda was doing exceptionally well. If talking was what it would take to get his mind off Pony for a few seconds...

"What colour would you paint it, little buddy?" My eyes still closed, I rubbed the bridge of my nose with one hand, trying to ease the ache in my head and failing miserably. Unfortunately, there was no such thing I could try for my heart.

"I like blue." Soda answered after a moments thought. He sounded exhausted, and I knew he looked it.

"Blue's too cold of a colour. If you paint a hospital blue, people would be depressed all the time." I answered absently.

"They don't need any help. Have you seen some of these doctors?" Two-Bit's voice drifted up to us from the floor. If he hadn't moved in the past few seconds since I shut my eyes, he was still sprawled out on the scruffy linoleum, his hands behind his head. He had found the chairs "too damn uncomfortable" and settled for the ground instead. I'd thought a couple of times about telling him how filthy the floor was, but I figured he already knew, and just didn't care. If he wanted to roll around in God-knows-what, he should go right ahead. I was too tired to nag uselessly at the moment.

"Blue moon..." Steve started singing deeply in a lame but passable Elvis impression. I could imagine how he must look, wrinkling his forehead and curling his lips. Suddenly, I heard a muffled thump and a pained curse. Two-Bit must have kicked Steve from the floor.

I felt Soda's head shake slightly on my lap and knew he was laughing silently.

_Good. Mission accomplished by the Two Stooges. _If they cheered Sodapop up, I don't care how annoying or loud they were.

"What about red?" Soda asked after a few moments. It took me awhile to remember what the hell he was talking about. Oh right, what colour he wanted to paint the hospital.

"Red would make people angry." My voice was getting hoarse. "I don't think the hospital staff really wants infuriated patients and their families attacking them constantly."

"At least they wouldn't have to clean the blood off the walls." Two-Bit added, being cheerfully morbid. I swear that kid had a lost career in acting.

"Green?" Soda continued, sounding like he was falling asleep.

"We ain't plants." Steve grumbled helpfully. He had ignored my suggestion that he get his ribs looked at, and instead had Two-Bit swipe him a bottle of aspirin from somewhere. I hadn't forced the issue, because in the back of my head a voice was whispering to me that I would barely be able to pay Pony's hospital bills, nevertheless anyone else's. I knew that Steve's drunkard of a father wouldn't cough up money to pay for his son's hospitalization if his son's life depended on it. The aspirin didn't seem to be doing much for Steve, but he wasn't complaining. Not that he would, even if he were about to pass out from the agony.

"Orange?"

"You wanna drive everybody in here crazy?" Two-Bit asked incredulously. "Orange is damn annoying."

I drifted out of the conversation and listened thoughtlessly to their banter. My mind felt filled with cotton balls, and it wasn't a completely unwelcome feeling at the moment.

"Yellow?"

"Too bright."

"Brown?"

"Too dark?"

"Purple?"

"Evie has a purple blouse. It's ugly, but makes her look real nice."

I wondered lazily through my stupor what this had to do with painting the walls that colour, but I couldn't be bothered to give it any further thought.

"Black?"

"Hell no."

"Gray?"

"Too boring."

A thoughtful pause.

"Pink."

There was silence.

My mouth twitched weakly, and I think had I been any less exhausted I would have smiled.

"Okay Soda." Two-Bit allowed blandly, as if he had the power to make such decisions. "You go tell that receptionist over there that what this hospital really needs is to be painted pink." I heard a strange gasping sound, and it took me a second to realize that it was Steve laughing slowly and painfully.

For better or for worse, (although I'm willing to bet it would have been the former) I never found out if Soda would have taken him up on that or not, because at that moment the weight left my lap and my kid brother leapt to his feet. Soda started asking questions a mile a minute, and before I even realized what I was doing I was on my feet beside him.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes impatiently as I listened to Doctor Field talk in his low, rough voice.

"...can see him now. He's in room 206, and Nurse Richardson will lead you there-"

As he spoke, he glanced to the side, searching out Nurse Richardson to indicate to us who she was. When he turned back, still talking, Soda and I had disappeared.

As I ran down the hall, I concentrated on following Soda's plaid shirt as we tore through the groups of people in the hallway. Doors and rooms sped past me on either side, but my only thoughts were on my sudden, mindless need to see my youngest brother. After somehow telepathically making a unanimous decision to take the stairs, we ran up them two at a time.

_We're coming, little buddy, hold on..._

-

-- Two-Bit's Point of View --

Steve and I wove through the hallways as fast as we could, narrowly missin' being taken out by a gurney whippin' past at lightnin' speed. I woulda taken the stairs like the Curtis boys, but one look at Steve's pale and sweatin' face and I knew he never would've made it. Seein' as how I didn't particularly fancy the idea of havin' to carry Steve up a flight of stairs, we headed in the other direction down the hall in search of an elevator.

When I finally found the stupid goddamn elevator, I pressed the stupid goddamn button. Why this sudden fury against elevators you may ask? Well, because apparently they are the most fuckin' difficult things to find when you're in a hurry. I mean, common. Where are the clearly marked signs? Sure, there're signs, but how am I s'posed to know which way that sonofagun arrow is pointin'? What if one of us had been bleedin' to death all over the floor and we needed emergency medical treatment on the second level? We woulda died, and it woulda been this stupid goddamn hospital's fault. Can you put a rant against hospital elevators on a tombstone?

I had plenty of time to think about such pressing matters as these in the fifty years it took for us to first wait for the elevator to come down to the ground floor, then to wait for it to take us to the second floor.

I was worried about the kid more than I wanted to show. I don't think I was foolin' anyone, but for some reason I found myself tryin' anyway. If he-... if somethin' happened to him, I don't know what would happen. I've never seen Soda so torn up as he was the week Pony was gone. Darry neither. When I showed up at the Curtis house the morning after he ran away, I never expected to find Soda with his head in his hands on the couch and Darry staring at the newspaper without really seein' it.

_"What happened?" I stopped in my tracks; the sound the door made when I slammed it shut was still echoin' through the unusually silent house. Somethin' had happened, I didn't know what, but I knew right away it was somethin' bad. _

_"Pony's run away." Darry said quietly, focusing on foldin' his newspaper directly on the crease. He was purposefully avoidin' meetin' Soda's eyes. The younger Curtis was glarin' at him, almost...challengin' him?_

_I automatically glanced around the livin' room, searchin' for the kid. Pony...run away? But I'd just seen him last night; I'd walked him and Johnny home from the movies. _

_"Truth?" I asked, momentarily stunned. "Glory, why?" Of all of us, with the exception of maybe Soda or Darry, Pony seemed the least likely to get up and split. Johnny, yeah, Steve, sure, Dally, of course, me, why not, but Pony? _

_"He got home late after curfew; said him 'n Jonnycake fell asleep in the lot. He had a fight with Darry." Soda explained slowly, twistin' his hands together and refusin' to look at Darry. What the hell?_

_I nodded, suddenly rememberin' from my hazy, mostly drunken memories of last night Ponyboy sayin' something about how he thought Darry hated him. It wasn't true, but I don't think he believed me when I told him that. Darry did usually rag on him somethin' fierce, but it wasn't 'cause Darry hated him, it was 'cause Darry worried about him. What I wouldn't give for someone to worry about me like that..._

_"When?" I asked, already tickin' off in my mind the places he could be. He wasn't in the lot; I'd passed it on my way to the Curtis house and looked in to see if Johnny was sleepin' there. He wasn't. Maybe he was off somewhere with Johnny? I looked over at the clock on the wall, 10:24. _

_"2:30. We already went looking for him. We were just about to go again." Darry shoved a hand through his dark hair, his eyes closed for a moment. _

_I nodded. "Y'all stay here. I'll round up Steve, Johnny 'n Dall, and we'll all go lookin' together." I opened the door, the screen rattlin' on its hinges. "Don't you worry, we'll find him. He couldn't have gotten far. Then we'll bash his head in for runnin' off in the first place." I tried to smile, but I don't think it was as reassurin' as I wanted, because Darry and Soda just looked at me miserably._

Believe it or not, I can be serious. I know alota people would think I was tryin' to pull a fast one if I told them that, but it's true. But being serious ain't fun, there's too much to think and worry about. And once you start it gets harder and harder to stop.

When Steve and I arrived at the second floor on the elevator, I was just about ready to pull out my switchblade and try to do some damage to the control panel. Then I realized I didn't have my switchblade, 'cause I'd given it to Dally before the rumble, and that just made me mad.

"Room 206, room 206..." I mumbled to myself while I looked at all the numbers on the doors around me. Shoot but there were a hell of a lotta rooms. Where the fuck was room 206?

I glanced over at Steve, and saw him glarin' at the door numbers as well, lookin' angry and in pain.

"210, 208- Glory hallelujah, 206!" I shouted gleefully, happier to see that little plaque at the moment then I was last time I saw Mickey on television.

My exclamations of joy were rudely interrupted by a short, chubby woman with curly hair placin' herself directly between the door and Steve and I. I was just about to cuss her out when I realized that she was wearing a white dress and hat. She was a nurse. Oh. Damn.

"Only family are allowed beyond this point." She said stiffly, crossing her arms. Was she tryin' to look intimidatin' or somthin'? She couldn't be more then five feet tall. Steve and I could take her... "I could call security." She added quickly, eyein' the two of us suspiciously.

Double-damn. That meant we actually had to listen to her, unless we wanted to get kicked out of the hospital. And I wasn't going nowhere until I saw Ponyboy.

"We are family, Ma'am." I answered politely, standin' a little straighter. "My name is Two-Bit Curtis, and this here is my brother Hotdog Curtis." I pointed at Steve. The nurse glanced over at him, and he nodded, smilin' helpfully. As soon as she turned back to me, his look turned into a glower aimed in my direction.

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't look like that boy in there."

"He's my little brother, Ma'am, honest to God." Okay, God, if you're up there, please don't smite me. "You can check the file and everythin'. Darrel, Sodapop, Ponyboy, Two-Bit and Hotdog Curtis. We had real original parents." I bluffed smoothly, my poker face carefully honed from years of losin' money. Damn but I love poker.

"Fine. You can go in, Mr. Curtis." She still seemed a little dazed by my rendition of the New Curtis Family.

"Thank you, Miss!" I grinned, and she walked away down the hall, glancin' back over her shoulder once.

I was reachin' for the knob when I felt somethin' very solid smash into my arm. "What the-"

Steve glared at me, raisin' his fist threateningly again. "Hotdog?" He growled angrily.

I raised an eyebrow. "Steve ain't weird enough to be a Curtis name. Two-Bit is." I explained, proud of my logic. Besides, he was lucky. It was either Hotdog or Lollypop because those were to first two things to come to my head. What can I say, I was hungry...

Steve muttered obscenities under his breath.

I turned the knob and threw open the door.

-

--Soda's Point of View--

You know, it's funny... Feeling detached really comes in handy. I never realized before how doctors can perform surgery without their hands shaking, or how firefighters can walk into flames while still remembering all their training on how to deal with hysterical victims. How can you be that focused when there must be so many other things to think about? Well, now I know.

There were so many things rushing through my brain as I ran down the hall beside Darry. I can't even describe it. Like being caught in the middle of a stampede of horses or something, and there's not a thing you can do about it. All I know is a second later the only thing I noticed was the sound my sneakers made as they pounded down on the white linoleum. It was like there was a solid wall of glass between my shoes and me and everything else. I knew it was all there, I just didn't think about it. Anyway, the sound my shoes made was real nice; the dull thud was very repetitive and almost soothing.

I was so numb to everything that when Darry suddenly stopped I almost ran right into him. I was gasping for breath, and my eyes focused on the door in front of me.

_Room 206. _Pony's room.

Oh thank _God._

I reached past Darry for the doorknob, but some nurse materialized between it and me. She snapped something about family only, I don't know exactly what, I wasn't really paying attention. When she switched her gaze from Darry to me, I reflexively grinned, even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. I was panicking. I was so close...

_Out of my way, you cow. I want to see my little brother. _

She smiled tentatively back at me, slightly taken aback.

"My name is Darrel Curtis Jr.-" Darry started tersely.

As soon as her eyes flickered back to Darry, I bolted past her and was through the door in less then a second. She squeaked, appalled and shocked beyond words behind me. I didn't care. Darry could take care of her.

The first things I noticed were the curtains. They were striped and yellow and hideous. I guess they stood out in such a sea of white. Then I saw the bed, and started forward as fast as my sore limbs could take me.

The figure in the bed was lying on his side facing away from me. The white sheet was tangled around his stomach, and one long, slim white arm dangled off the side. On the other side of the bed there was a pole where a partially empty bag hung beside a whole mess of equipment. His hospital gown had slipped off his shoulder, revealing a dark bruise on his collarbone. His blonde hair lay limply against the white pillow.

I froze. Blonde hair? _Pony has brown hair. Reddish-brown hair, it's real tuff. _

I was in the wrong room.

Disappointment rushed through me like a wave, leaving my knees weak and my eyes misty. A choking sob came from deep in my chest and I thought I might crumple into tears right there on the spot. Yupp, Sodapop Curtis, resident bawl-baby at your service!

Through my fit I somehow noticed the figure on the bed move slowly. First his leg twitched, then he rolled onto his back. His head twisted restlessly against the pillow, and when it tilted in my direction I knew in an instant it was my brother.

_He bleached his hair in Windrixville, you fucking idiot._

Now there really were tears running down my face. The next thing I knew I was at his side, his hand in mine. I stroked the side of his face with shaking fingers and pushed the moist tendrils of blonde hair away from his pale forehead. I crouched down beside the bed, so that my head was level with his.

"Oh Pony..." I whispered, but I know he could hear me. I don't care how asleep he was, he always reacted to my voice. Or used to, anyway. "Common, Babe, you gotta wake up..."

Then Darry was beside me, his breath loud in my ear. He clutched the fabric of Pony's gown, as if to make sure he was really there. His insecurities rubbed off on me, and I ran my thumb over the bruised and broken skin of my little brother's cheek. It was slick with sweat, and I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Pony moved his head again, his forehead creasing in agitation. My fingers paused a few inches from his face, unsure what to do.

"...Mom?..." He mumbled, forming the words on his lips and barely breathing them out.

Without knowing what I was doing, I gently smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "I'm here, honey. Go back to sleep."

Darry's head jerked up to stare at me in disbelief, but I didn't look away from Ponyboy. The kid made a small gasping sound, filled with pain, but then his forehead smoothed out once more.

I heard the door open, and I knew Two-Bit and Steve had arrived. I didn't care.

Darry wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me slightly to his chest in a half hug. I rested my head against his neck and squeezed Pony's hand softly.

We were here for Pony. He would be all right. He had to be.

* * *

-- To Be Continued --


	5. Five

Author's Notes: Hey everyone! Apologies both for the wait and for the copious amounts of swearing in this chapter. You'll see what I mean.

My lovely reviewers! Thank you all for spending those few seconds to type something in that lavender-coloured box. It really does make my day to hear your thoughts and opinions on the chapter. For those of you who read but didn't review, thanks for reading!

Review replies: **Kimmerkay** - I'm glad you like the beginnings. I was wondering if anyone actually read that part or just skipped right into the action:) There is a lot of time left, it's only Sunday morning, and Pony wakes up on Tuesday... oh dear, I have a lot of writing to do, don't I? ;) Thanks for the comment about the flashback! That was fun to write, and one of my favourite parts of the chapter - I could see it happening so clearly in my head! I hope your computer keeps working for you! Thank you Kim, **Phaerie-Mage1313 -**There is no such thing as reading Outsiders fics too much! Thanks, **DonnyLuvr** - I'm glad it wasn't long and boring! I hate chapters like that. :) Thank you, **FeistyFeist** I love the ending to that chapter too! Thanks for reviewing my itty-bitty little story, **Silverstagbeauty** - Thank you, **Latinagal** - Yupp, it's me:) I must've been 13 or 14...that's crazy. I don't know if we just thought the writing was better when we were younger or there actually was more...but I know what you mean. There are a few good ones now, but very few, and very hard to find. Aw, aren't you lucky to have met S.E.H! My email is in my profile! Thanks for your review, **Just Another Anglophile** - Thanks, **Sidney15** - I'm glad I'm filling in the missing pieces for you, **Megan** - Here you go, **IamOnlyMe** - I think it's fabulous that someone other than me enjoys my humour. :) I'm your mentor? Haha oh dear. Thank you, **LiveinDreams92** - Thanks, and **Marauder and the Q** - Haha, it's alright that you've waited until now. I like to think it's better written now than it was years ago. Thanks Lara!.

And now on to the story!

* * *

_Tick, tick, tick, tick…_

The face of the clock that hung on the hospital room wall was grimy like that of an insolent child's; in need of a wash, but a pointless task. The eggshell plastic rim had yellowed from exposure to sunlight forming a contrast to the stark white wall on which it was mounted. With abrupt, jerking movements the small black hands swung about, mockingly efficient.

Time, eternal and easily lost, merciless and numbing, steady and fleeting, precious and impossible to resist, moved on, callous to what might be happening around it.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick..._

* * *

-- Steve's Point of View --

Do you want to know how to drastically improve your quality of life? No, I'm not going to say join the army, no matter what those goddamn recruitment posters say. Don't get me started on the bullshit that is Vietnam, and no, I'm not being un-American. There are plenty of good ways to die without leaving Tulsa, and some of them even concern you. Anyway, my advice is easy to follow, with personal benefits that are almost immediate. Are you ready for it? Here it is:

Don't fall asleep in a red plastic hospital chair.

Okay, so the red part is optional. Seriously though, _fuck. _

I woke up, disoriented and feeling like I had a major hangover, with a searing pain in my back and an ache in my neck. I straightened up, my eyes still closed and trying to ignore the sounds that woke me up in the first place, only to find that my ribs hurt even more than my back did. I reflexively wrapped one hand around my chest with a groan and leaned forward, my forehead resting on my knees. With my other hand I felt up my back. _There. _Goddamn it! I actually had a fucking groove my back from the rim of that stupid chair. Who knew it would hurt this much? Son of a...

I growled darkly under my breath. I chose to mutter a few more creative words as I forced myself to straighten up and open my eyes. The glaring white of the hospital room didn't surprise me. I had to blink a few times against the brightness before I stood up and stumbled over to where Soda and Darry were on either side of the hospital bed. Two-Bit cranked open one eye from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and gave me some sort of appraising look before promptly shutting it again. I put a hand on Soda's shoulder as I rubbed my face with the other. Finally, I looked down at the kid.

Somehow I'd known immediately in the Death Chair what had woken me up. I just _knew._ Now, looking at the pale, sweating and restless state of Ponyboy and the drawn looks on his brothers' faces, I also knew that I was correct. I would've thought that I'd feel angry or at least annoyed that the kid had woken me up with his nightmares. Maybe it was because they weren't nightmares so much as delirious ramblings...or it could be the fact that this was, after all, _his _hospital room and I was just a visitor. Whatever it was, I just felt exhausted and in pain with no resentment whatsoever. I chalked it up to the fatigue and didn't bother thinking about it anymore.

"No, Johnny, he-" Pony muttered anxiously, eyes closed and eyebrows pressed together in consternation. Soda sat beside his brother's shoulders on the hospital bed and carefully stroked the hair off the kid's forehead. This seemed to calm him, sort of, and the kid finally laid his cheek down on the pillow, exhausted. "He didn't mean to kill Bob." His quiet voice was pleading, breaking at the end into a sob. "He _didn't."_

"Shh, honey." Soda whispered, his face tired and drawn. He rested his hand on Ponyboy's other cheek. "We know."

"But he-" Broken and said weakly.

"We know, baby." Soda leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead softly. Ponyboy hadn't been coherent since we got to the hospital. I don't know about before that. Even as Soda comforted the kid, I doubted that it was my buddy's voice that the youngest Curtis was hearing. He seemed soothed, though, and I was thankful. Well, I least now I could get some decent goddamn shuteye...

I eyed my Death Chair with resentment. Two-Bit snorted from behind me, enjoying my misery. I always knew that he was fuckin' sadistic.

"Cummon, Stevie-boy." He said brightly, pushing himself away from the wall and throwing an arm around my shoulders. I glared at him. "We're goin' to the Food-Place!"

"Cafeteria." Darry supplied, looking like he was about three seconds from collapsing to the floor in a heap of construction-worker bulk.

"I know what it's called." Two-Bit scoffed, appearing offended. "I just chose not to call it that!"

Soda looked up from where he sat with Pony and smiled weakly, but the expression didn't reach his eyes.

Two-Bit led me, with more force then was goddamn needed, thank you very much, from the room and down the hall with him.

"Have a nice sleep?" Two-Bit asked sweetly, taking his arm off my shoulder and stretching both of them behind his back.

I flipped him off silently, moody and in pain. My thoughts wondered back to the hospital room that we had just left and the state our gang was in. Pretty pathetic, really. Darry was nearing collapse, Soda was exhausted physically and emotionally, I could barely fucking walk, Ponyboy was delirious, Two-Bit was, well, a tired version of himself, and Dallas and Johnny were dead. Glory hallelujah, were we a tuff bunch of Greasers at the moment or what? And for a second there, we all thought that we lost Pony...

"I hope the kid's alright."

"What?" Two-Bit asked incredulously, raising one rusty eyebrow in surprise and curiosity. "I thought you hated the kid."

God-fucking-damn. I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"I do!" I insisted, immediately defensive. I shrugged up my shoulders, and shoved my hands in my jeans' pockets in a blatantly obvious attempt to look cool. "He's a cry-baby, and a tag-along, and a stupid little kid." I had been about to say know-it-all, but then realized that was a little too many hyphens for personal comfort.

Two-Bit was still looking at me with one raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face like he wasn't buying a word of what I was saying. I hate that fucking look. It's pissin' me off.

"I just want him to get better so that Sodapop will stop babyin' him, and we can all go home." Hey, it wasn't criminal to want my best friend back, was it? The way that the words coming out of my mouth sounded like lies even to me was unnerving. Not to mention a little bit disgusting.

I could have sworn that Two-Bit's eyes twinkled. I glared at him.

We stepped onto the elevator and I pressed the button for the ground floor. The doors swished closed with a menacing sound. When I turned around from the control panel, I saw that Two-Bit and I weren't the only occupants of the small elevator. An old lady, her ancient husband, a young mother and her toddler daughter stared back at me.

Oh fuckin' hell. Nothing could be easy today, could it?

"Hello, folks!" Two-Bit greeted happily; tipping his non-existent hat to the elevator's other patrons. I just glowered darkly, leaned against the metallic wall and folded my arms across my chest. I must've looked pretty tuff, with my dirty face, greasy (and by now naturally so) hair, blood and mud stained clothes and painfully stiff stance. Two-Bit was all smiles and personality, with his disgusting clothes, scraped up face and carefully trimmed sideburns. We made an interesting pair of teenage delinquents. Defiantly hoodlums.

The young woman gathered the two-year-old into her arms, and clutched the wide-eyed kid to her chest. She glared at us in a possessive, I'll-fight-you-to-the-death-to-protect-my-baby, suicidally malicious kind of way. It was fucking frightening.

The old man peered down at us with eyes hidden by thick, bushy white brows through his spectacles, scrunching up his large, round nose in concentration. The old lady gripped her flowery purse and wooden walking stick like weapons, and stared at us narrowly. For some reason, I got the definite feeling that if provoked she'd come as us, possessions flailing and screaming like a banshee. I almost felt sorry for the old man to be married to such a witch. Goddamn possessed Grandma.

When the hell did people stop being afraid of us? It could be that Two-Bit was now making stupid faces at the little girl. And hitting on the mother. But still. I couldn't help but feel outnumbered. It must be because we're in hospital. Hospitals make people crazy.

When the door opened with an entirely too optimistic 'ding!' I sprang out of there, broken ribs be damned.

"You got money?" I asked Two-Bit as we neared the cafeteria line up.

"'course." He answered simply, fishing in his pockets for change. He came up with two crumpled dollar bills, a smattering of change, a stick of gum and a lollipop wrapper. He tossed the wrapper over his shoulder, shoved the gum in his mouth, and ordered four cups of coffee. I watched as the lollipop wrapper floated lazily over to land in an open container of an unknown green substance with an accompanying ladle. Hospital food made me want to puke. Actually, the food kind of looked like food. How appetizing.

--

Coffee in hand, we exited the elevator on Ponyboy's floor and headed towards his door. Two-Bit wouldn't let me take the stairs. Lazy son-of-a-bitch.

Having yet miraculously avoided spilling any of the ridiculously hot coffee, Two-Bit and I eyed the door warily. Both carrying a cup in each hand, having scorned the cardboard cup-carrying thing, we hadn't anticipated the threat of the door handle.

Further contemplation of the goddamn metal object was avoided by Two-Bit charming a nurse into opening it for us.

"The beverages have arrived!" Two-Bit called into the room as he manhandled the door open with his shoulder. "Caffeine-riddled for your personal enjoyment."

He stopped dead in the doorway, and I had to awkwardly peer over his shoulder. No easy feat with broken ribs and two cups of coffee in hand.

Ponyboy was struggling beneath Darry and Sodapop's restraining arms, writhing back and forth and sobbing harshly. His eyes were open and staring at things that weren't there; it was always more difficult to deal with his delirium when he was awake and so convinced he was seeing what wasn't there. Not to mention the creepy factor. The two elder Curtis brothers were stony-faced, and a nurse stood off to the side, monitoring the various machines the youngest was hooked up to. She soon left, sidling past Two-Bit and I in the doorway.

"No, _please..._leave me alone, leave me ALONE!" Ponyboy's voice rose momentarily, then slipped back to its present volume. "Help me...Mom, Dad! Please, make them stop, make them st-" He abruptly quieted and let out a low, pain-filled wail.

Two-Bit inched inside, and stood against the wall, his face unreadable. I followed, glancing back at the kid on the bed. He had stopped trying to escape his brothers' hold and lay back against the pillows, crying softly.

"No... Mom, wh-why...Dad... _No!" _A painful sob. "Why did _you-_" Somehow I knew that the 'you' he was referring to wasn't either one of his parents. "Why...how could you? H-how could you kill them?"

There was silence; the only sounds that broke the awful stillness of the room were Pony's ragged breathing and the beeping of that annoying machine. Darry and Sodapop were frozen in place, bent over their little brother.

"Come ba-back. Please, c-come back!" Pony whispered, and I rubbed the side of my face, feeling like I was intruding by being in the room. No one paid me any attention, and I did my best impression of the wall behind me, hoping to keep it that way. "Mom...Dad...please, _please..." _He trailed off, and his brothers removed their hands from him, deeming him unlikely to spazz his way off the bed for the moment.

Just as Soda was reaching down to rearrange the covers around his baby brother, the kid flailed at him as if he were a dangerous attacker. Pony got a surprisingly good punch in on Soda's cheek considering how weak the kid must be. Soda ignored it and held on to his brother until he relaxed into sleep. When he finally let go of him, though, and turned back to me, I could see the red mark forming on the side of his pale face where he got hit.

I silently handed Soda one of my now-lukewarm coffees and sipped at my own. Its bitterness coated my tongue and I swallowed heavily. Fuck, I hate coffee. Soda didn't bother tasting his at all, just held it in his hand and stared at his little brother.

Two-Bit handed over one of his cups to Darry, then bent over my Red Chair From Hell - my? When did I get possessive of it? Two-Bit could damn well have it forever if he wanted. I'm sure as hell going no where near it ever again -, placed his coffee on the seat and then went digging around his pockets. When he took his hand out filled with little packets of sugar, I could've slapped myself. Ah, _that's_ what I'd forgotten. Where'd he get them? I could've sworn I didn't see them, or I would've remembered to jack some. Two-Bit's talent in shoplifting never failed to amaze me. I watched as he began to empty all fifty-trillion or so packets into his cup.

Finished, and leaving the discarded and sad-looking empty sugar wrappers on the chair, he turned back towards the bed. He swirled his cup in a circle, in what I could only assume was his attempt at stirring the now sugar-filled coffee. Darry was watching Two-Bit from where he was sitting next to Pony, a look of complete disgust on his face. I looked over at Soda, expecting him to join in Two-Bit's sugar obsession and for him to comment on his want to submerge his own coffee in the sweet white powder.

Soda's face was blank; the calm, composed, long-suffering mask that I recognized from his parents' funeral. Then, abruptly, his face crumpled. Soda whirled around, reared back and with the arm of a pitcher hurled the coffee cup at the wall. It impacted in a spectacular burst of dark liquid that dripped down the stark white surface of the wall and formed a puddle on the floor. He was out the door even before we could even react to his outburst.

Darry started to stand, his worrying eyes flickering between the bed and the door. I caught his eye, shook my head, and he nodded at me, understanding my meaning. I shoved my own cup of coffee into Two-Bit's hand as I passed and followed my best friend out the door.

I found him at the end of the hall, sitting against the wall behind the two collapsible cots that had just been shoved to the side for the time being. His legs were drawn up against his chest and his face was buried in his arms where they were crossed on his knees. His shoulders were shaking, and although he made no noise, I knew he was crying.

I sat down next to him wordlessly and wrapped my arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer to me. He rested his forehead against my shoulder and I could feel his tears seeping into my shirt. I didn't mind.

Alright, so I'm not as big a prick as most people seem to think I am. Do you really think Sodapop Curtis would be my best friend if I were? The guy's practically a friggin' drop of sunshine. He must've seen some good in me somewhere, right?

I'm a Greaser, though, I'm tough. A boy's got to keep up his image, don't he? Besides, I really am this mean, mostly. I hope so, anyway. Damn.

Slowly, Soda's sobs subsided, but he didn't move from my shoulder.

"Why is everyone around me dying?" He asked softly, his voice tired.

He had a point. Mrs. Curtis, Mr. Curtis, Dallas and Johnny, all in less then a year. And we thought Ponyboy might not make it a first. Holy shit, if this kid had a dog, it'd probably have died by now.

"Pony's gunna be fine. 'Sides, you still got me, Darry and Two-Bit. And Two-Bit won't go away even if you tried to beat him with a stick to make him." I joked wryly, but knew it to be true. Soda chuckled, but I knew he knew it to.

Soda brought up his hand and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He sighed. "I just..." He trailed off.

"I know." I assured him, even if I wasn't really sure if I did.

"Thanks Steve."

"Don't mention it." Seriously, don't. My reputation would be ruined. But at the moment, I couldn't really bring myself to care. Besides, I knew Soda wouldn't tell anyone. He's a good buddy like that. He's never told anyone yet that Steven Randle has a heart, why would he now?

--

-- Darry's Point of View --

I was thankful for the coffee. It had been a long night. The morning wasn't looking too much better.

Two-Bit had adopted Steve's vacated chair and sat facing the wall. At first I was confused, but then I realized it was so that he could lean back and brace his feet on the wall a few feet off the ground. It kind of looked like he was sitting back in a reclining chair with a footrest. I wasn't sure if he was asleep or just sitting with his eyes closed. Steve was sitting uncomfortably on the floor, his back to the wall, arms wrapped around his broken ribs. I wondered if he'd taken all the aspirin already. Soda was half-laying on the bed next to Ponyboy, his arm around him and resting his head against the wall with his eyes closed. His arm will probably go numb, and he'll get a sore back from the position he's in, but it's somehow calming Ponyboy, so I'm not going to complain on Soda's behalf.

My seat next to Pony's bed wasn't the most comfortable chair I'd ever sat in, but my ass had dealt with worse. Sitting on boards two stories up while doing construction was hell on the backside. Sure, I did roofing mostly, but I was up for any paying job these days, so I had been known to take any job on a house that I didn't need extra training for.

Two-Bit stirred and had obviously had enough of sitting around. He stood up and stretched lengthily. He glanced at me then frowned. "Hey, ain't you s'posed to be at work, Darry?"

"No, it's Sunday." I answered, my voice hoarse. "I don't work on Sundays." That reminded me... I looked pointedly at Steve. "You and Soda, however, do." After taking a look at the clock, I raised my eyebrows. "And you two start in three-quarters of an hour."

Soda blinked his eyes open, yawning heavily. "Call my manager, Dar, and say I can't come in today. Please?"

"Sorry, little buddy, but we need the income." I wish I didn't have to say that out loud, but it wasn't like it was new information to anyone in the room. It almost made me wince to have to admit that I was being a pretty horrible guardian monetarily wise as well as responsibility-wise.

Soda yawned again, but simply nodded at me. A few months ago, he would have argued. A few days ago, he would have complained a bit. Today he was silent. I wasn't sure I liked how this was progressing.

"Hey Two-Bit, can we borrow your car?" Soda asked, shoving his feet in his shoes. He'd discarded them awhile back.

"Oh _hell _no!" Steve grumbled, shooting Two-Bit a withering glare. Two-Bit merely smiled innocently. I decided that I didn't want to know. "We're taking the fuckin' _bus._"

Soda just shrugged, then looked at me hopefully. I dug around my pockets and finally came around with the required change for bus fare. "Gotcha covered," I said, handing it to him.

He nodded in thanks, then leaned over Ponyboy. He stroked his little brother's pale cheek for a moment, and smoothed down the sweat-dampened hair. "You be good for Darry, ya hear?" He took one last glance at his sick youngest brother, then followed Steve out the door.

"And you don't fall asleep on the job and get yourself fired, ya hear?" I muttered to Sodapop, but he was much too far away to hear me.

"Well, I don't particularly want to go about desertin' you Darrel, but I gotta go home and take myself a shower." Two-Bit said, running a hand through his rusty hair. "I stink." He added helpfully.

I laughed quietly. "I believe you."

I didn't realize how empty the room would feel after Two-Bit left. It was my sleeping little brother, and the steadily beeping noises of the machines in the room and me. I picked up Pony's limp hand from where it lay on the bedsheets and held it in my own.

'_Please get better, Ponyboy.'_

--

Sometime later there was a knock on the door. I looked up, expecting Two-Bit or one of the others to have forgotten something. When the intern poked his head in, I wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Can I come in?" He asked politely, his eyes taking in the relative emptiness of the room.

"Yes." I answered, confused. He worked here, why was he knocking? Doctors just usually arrogantly invited themselves in, didn't they?

"Thanks." The intern gave a quick smile and straightened his tie as he walked over to the foot of Pony's bed. He kept glancing at Ponyboy then down at his clipboard, taking notes.

"You're name was Doctor Brenton, right?" I asked, taking a closer look at him. He was tall and slender, not bulky in any way, and yet not stick-thin, either. He didn't have the build of the typical library-bound nerd, but here he was a medical intern who couldn't be very much older than I was. He had short brown hair, but surprisingly long sideburns, nearly as long as Two-Bit's. It was strange, seeing sideburns like that on a doctor. Sideburns and greasy, long hair were trademarks of the Greasers, not the Socs, and yet here was an obvious rich kid going against the 'rules'.

"Yeah, Richard William Brenton, M.D. at your service." He grinned briefly, then took a step closer to the beeping machine. After a moment he looked back at me. "Darrel, correct?"

I nodded, "Darry, actually." I wasn't sure why I told him that. Why did one of Pony's doctors need to know the name I went by around friends?

Then I noticed something else. When he spoke, it was without the Tulsa 'drawl', our natural way of speaking in Oklahoma. He had his own accent; it wasn't much different, but it was different all the same.

"You're not from around here are you?" I asked, aware that I probably sounded fairly rude. I didn't care too much; I was tired and worried.

"No. You caught me. I'm from Rochester, Minnesota." Brenton said easily. "My parents both work at the Mayo Clinic, my mother as a nurse, my father as a doctor. So when I finished medical school-"

"You got as far away from them as possible." I finished for him.

"If only my parents understood as well as you do." He joked, jotting down some more about Pony. "What gave me away as being a foreigner?"

"You treat us differently then the other doctors and nurses do." I didn't realize what I was thinking until I was saying it. It ran deeper than just looks or speech. "Friendlier or something."

Brenton lowered his charts and held them at his side. He looked at me intently with bright brown eyes. "Socials and Greasers?" I must have started, because he nodded. "Yeah, I know about them. Gangs aren't anything new."

"Is it the same everywhere? Did Rochester have gangs?" I asked, curious despite myself. I knew New York had gang rivalries, from Dally, but I couldn't help wondering.

"Every city in the world has gangs. People of a similar region, colour or ethnicity who band together against people with opposing values or attributes and fight for what they believe in. But not everybody in the city is in a gang. It's not like here." Brenton paused, and I gestured for him to continue. "Here, everyone is on one side or the other. There is no neutral or middle ground. You have a side, and it is chosen for you. As soon as I got to Tulsa, the other interns told me how it was. Who I was better than, why, and what I was to do if they ever 'got in my way'."

I knew that my friends and I were the 'who' and the 'they' in his last sentence.

Brenton shook his head mildly, his honest disbelief evident on his plain features. "I've never seen anything like it."

Through the open door, I heard a voice trail in over the intercom. "_...-ing Doctor Brenton, please report to room 107. Paging Doctor Brenton, please report to room 107..."_

Brenton ran a hand through his cropped short hair and smiled slightly. "I'm being summoned. You're brother is doing better, by the way. He should gradually get better over the next few days. He'll be fine. There's nothing more we can do though, at the moment, and I'm sorry about that."

I stood up and reached out my hand. "Thank you for helping him."

He shook it. "Sure. If you need anything, just ask one of the nurses where I'm at...on second thought, I'll just check in now and then." He laughed softly, understanding my expression of doubtful confidence in the nurses helping anyone of my friends or me at all.

He paused in the doorway. "They're afraid of you Greasers. All the Socs. You know that, right?" Brenton asked, then he was gone, off in the flurry of activity outside Ponyboy's hospital room door.

Did I? I wasn't sure. But at least I'd have something to think about besides my worry, grief and personal failures.

* * *

--To Be Continued-- 

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! Please leave any comments, critiques or suggestions in the form of reviews, and you'll make my day:)

Yours,

-Kate Everson


	6. Six

Author's Note: Apologies once again for the obscenely long wait, and thank you so much for sticking with it if you're still reading!

Reviewer responses: **Silverstagbeauty **– thank you!, **FeistyFeist** – I'm glad you appreciate my return! It's true that it's only Sunday, and you'll be surprised to see at the end of this chapter, it's STILL Sunday! (oops, spoilertags!) Eventually I'll get to fateful Tuesday, and S.E.H. can take over!, **IAmOnlyMe** – I loved reading your favourite lines! It's always nice when the details are noticed! Thanks so much for the concrit! Eee, I hope this chapter has less typos! :P, **Marauder and the Q – **We've definitely all had Death Chair experiences, unfortunately! Our poor, abused bums! And yes, it's surprising the amount of material that crops up in four days!, **MBP** – I'm glad the POV worked for you!, **xodamhsoirxo** – Thanks!, **SamSammySamantha **– Hopefully you had some tissues handy!, **Kitty Lane **– You bet!, **NeverEndingSugarHigh** – I hope this didn't scare you even more!, **Honeydukes013** – Thanks!, **Kimmerkay** – Hello again! I hope your vacation was amazing (California sounds lovely, I live in Canada!), I'm glad you caught the clock/courtroom connection, that's what inspired it! No Darry POV in this chapter for you, unfortunately, but he's in the next one! Thanks so much for your input, Kim!, **Printandpolish** – I think there must be more to Steve too!, **Laughing **– If you think it fits well into the story then my mission is accomplished!, **LutraShinobi** – If last time was forever, I don't wanna know what this was! :S Sorry! I'm glad you see the improvement over "It's Not Over," since that was written, oh, six years ago when I was quite young! No PM needed, because I always had inspiration (oh the movie!) but unfortunately never had the time/resources to sit down and write!, **FatherTime'sDaughterSage **– Thanks!, **AvatarKitara38 **– Thank you!, **PonyboyCurtis'GreaserGirl** – I do, but S.E.H. gives info on what she thought would happen to the characters after the end of the story, not what happened while Pony was sick. I think, anway!, **Bobbie3926** – Thanks!

Also, you may recognize a few sentances from the book, where they appear in Two-Bit's memory. Those were written by S. E. Hinton.

I know that was a ridiculously long A/N, but I feel the need to respond to anyone who takes the time to give me some feedback, because I really do appreciate it! But now I'm done, so let the awkward hugs and manly tears ensue!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

* * *

Everyone has heard the expression "if these walls could talk…," but few have really thought about it. What would the walls say if they could talk? Given the opportunity, would they share their secrets? Perhaps the more important question is, would you listen? Would anyone listen?

If you asked hospital walls to tell what they knew, what would they tell? Would they discuss superficial observations like their colour or decorations? Or would they talk of the haunting events that take place within their walls that only they have witnessed? When doors are shut and people think they are alone, what do the walls see and hear? What sticks with them?

Maybe it's the young mother, sobbing as she clutches a silent and blue-tinged baby to her chest. Or maybe it's the teenage boy with gunpowder on his hands, a hole in his head, and a white sheet over his face. The old man, perhaps, struggling alone with no family or friends at his side, fighting for his dying breaths. Or could it be the battered housewife with her black eye, broken wrist and shattered heart.

It must be heartbreaking being a wall. Seeing all that only they can, and unable to do anything about it, because there is nothing more stoic and helpless than a wall.

There are many things that only walls can witness. Others, like a bruised and burnt teenager with dark eyes dying in a hospital bed, a slender youth with a callused heart and bullet wounds in a black bag, and a tired blonde boy who cannot get peace even in sleep, others can see as well. And they can do something about it. But will they?

* * *

-- Soda's Point Of View --

I jerked upwards, feeling strangely as if I were falling, only to find myself already standing. Disoriented, I reached up and smoothed my hair in an unconscious nervous gesture. I sort of glanced around as I did so, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I was behind the counter of the DX, that was for sure, I'd recognize that dirty cash register and smeared counter anywhere. Half my face had a sorta numb feeling, and my elbow was sore. My shoulder, too, come to think of it.

Not all that impressive in and of itself, but I'd fallen asleep on my desk enough times back when I still went to school to figure out why my arm hurt and my face felt like it had been pushed out of place. As for my shoulder…

Steve was straightening candy bars on the rack to my right. The rack that was suspiciously shoulder level, if I were leaned over the counter with my chin propped up on my palm. I opened my mouth to say something appropriately annoyed and profanity-filled to him, to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face, when the door slammed open.

"Curtis!"

I jumped, startled by both the door and the harsh shout of my name. I remembered I had left my DX cap on the till, and swept it on as he strolled towards me.

"Look awake there, boy!" His thick grey moustache wiggled as he talked in a very distracting way. "I don't pay you to catch up on winks, ya hear?"

"Yes sir!" I nodded, rubbing the side of my face in what I hoped was a casual way. Mr. Rick, the owner and manager of the DX station was one tough guy, as he had to be to run a station in this part of town. Shoot, I don't get scared easy when it comes to authority figures, but Mr. Rick held my future paycheques in the palm of his hand. He wheeled on Steve, who was suddenly finding the rows of cigarettes in huge need of straightening.

"And you!"

Steve raised his head, tucking a thumb into his waistband and leaning back, the picture of cool and calm. I couldn't help but grin, knowing he found Mr. Rick just as damn scary as I did. I pushed the cap back from my forehead a bit and leaned over the counter.

"Ain't you s'posed to be out there fixin' the Dolton's Nova?" His eyes narrowed, bushy grey eyebrows intruding into his line of vision. "That goddamn Chevy ain't gunna fix itself! Get to it, boy!"

As Steve was getting to it, I made a show of being a productive employee by breaking open a new carton of Camels and lining them up next to the Marlboros. Mr. Rick, with nothing new to tell me off on or threaten me about, disappeared into his office. It just said 'Manager's Office' on the door, leading to further confusion over whether Rick was his first or family name.

Once again left to my lonesome again, I rubbed my tired face with both hands and wanted to just lay down and pass out. I'd fallen asleep at work. That in itself wasn't all that surprising, working the cash register at the DX was pretty hit and miss: the place was either swarming or empty. But I'm a sixteen year old high school dropout, and although I'm pretty good with cars, I'm not the whiz that Steve is. I mean, I'm good with people and all, but I'm not that much of an ideal employee. I could be replaced easy. And Darry needs my help with the bills… Mr. Rick already thought I fooled around too much, if he caught me sleeping on the job…

From Darry, my mind slipped to Pony, and something in my chest constricted painfully. Johnnycake. Bruised little Johnny Cade, everyone's little brother. And Dally, his loudest defender. Tough Dallas from New York City, who could survive everything but Johnny's death.

And Pony; dreamy, smartass Ponyboy, sick and hurt and lying in a hospital bed calling out for me, Darry, and his dead parents and friends.

Johnny and Dally were gone, but Pony was still here, Pony was still fighting, and it just suddenly hit me how _wrong_ it was that I was not at his bedside, holding his hand and helping me through it, like I'd done through his nightmares so many times before.

I was out from behind the counter before I'd realized I'd made a conscious decision to move, and soon I was pushing open the front door and stepping off the curb towards the street. I didn't know how I was going to get to the hospital from the DX, I'd walk if I had to –

Something grabbed my arm and spun me around. Steve was standing there with a pissed off look on his face, hand still clamp-like on my upper arm.

"Let me go!" I insisted, hating how childish I sounded and noticing with a strange sense of detachment how choked my voice sounded. "I have to be with Pony, he needs me!"

Steve grabbed my other bicep and held me solidly in front of him. Over his shoulder I could see the Nova with its hood up, tools laying about where Steve dropped them when he ran to catch me. He was looking at me now with a serious, pained expression on his face, and I remembered his broken ribs. There was sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hair didn't look as sharp as it usually did. I wondered, despite my own hurts and concern, if that was because he couldn't reach up high enough to comb it properly.

"You're helpin' Ponyboy far more by being here, keeping your job and earning enough to pay those hospital bills." Steve was letting his own worry show through, something I knew he usually tried hard to avoid. I _knew_ he cared about my kid brother, I just didn't know if he even realized it himself. "Darry can take just fine care of him, you know that."

He sighed, letting my arms go when he realized I wasn't going to run off again. "This is rough shit, Sodapop. For you and Darry 'specially. But if I hadn'ta woken you when I did, fuckin' Rick would have fired you. And you Curtis boys need that paycheque."

I suddenly fully realized what Steve had done for me back in the store. I'd fallen asleep, I managed to piece together that much in this stupid head of mine. And Steve had woken me up when he saw Mr. Rick coming by jabbing me with the candy rack, I'd gotten that too. But Steve had let me get some much-needed but almost impossible-to-get sleep without losing my job, which, really, was kinda impressive.

"Steve…" I started to say, unsure how to say my thanks in a tuff way. I already felt on the edge of tears, and I know I'd done enough blubberin' for a good long while. Who knew I was such a crybaby? I didn't care, mostly. My pride would recover eventually.

"Just get back in there before he notices you're gone, you idiot." Steve said, almost fondly, and there was an awkward moment where he wasn't really sure whether or not to hug me again. He settled for a friendly pat on the back and picked up his scattered tools as he made his way back to the Chevy.

I made it just behind the counter when the bell on the door rang, signalling we had a customer. I looked up and was met with the sight of Mabel Shoebocker, and what a sight it was. So old she was reaching the outer limits of ancient, she was shrunken and wrinkled and had skin that was so thin you could see all the little veins and things inside. She walked with a cane, which in itself was almost a feat, since it looked like a good gust of wind would not only knock her over, but kill her instantly.

And yet she still flirted with me like a shameless Greaser gal.

"Are you behavin' yourself today?" She asked, her depleted lower jaw constantly in motion in a way that reminded me of an eating cow, and what can only be described as a leer on her face.

"Doin' my best, Ma'am." I leaned forward on the counter and gave her my biggest, devil-may-care grin.

"Well, aw shucks." She smiled at me, or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell with all the wrinkles and constant movement. "Can't you be just a little naughty? For me?" She was eyeing me in a way that I think I should have felt somewhat embarrassed or offended by, but could only be amused at. To be threatened in any way by Mabel Shoebocker was ridiculous. Two-Bit liked to swat her bum and tell her that she was the most beautiful creature to walk the earth.

"Well, I'm going for employee-of-the-month, you see." I grabbed two packs of Mabel's preferred cigarettes that made up her daily purchase and rang them through. "I'd hate to do anything to ruin my chances. As much as I'd love to, of course." I assured her, smiling widely.

"Are you sure you couldn't just-" And she proceeded to suggest some lewd acts we could partake in together, using language that I knew would turn Pony's ears red.

I flicked my hat further up from my forehead and listened intently as Mabel moved into a description of something that I was fairly certain she was physically incapable of participating in her present age and health.

So I smiled and listened, missing Pony so much it hurt with what was left of my heart after Dally and Johnny's deaths left gaping holes in it.

-

-- Two-Bit's POV --

I took one look at the ass-end of my car surrounded by leaves and bushes and decided that it was time for me to make use of the good ol' Tulsa Transit System. Which, admittedly, would be pretty damn funny. I looked pretty tuff, all blood and dirt and I know I smelled pretty raunchy. Speakin' as a cat who has only a dismal respect for personal hygiene, when you can smell your own BO, you know its time for a shower.

As for the bus fare, well, all my loose change had been spent in procuring the coffee at that hole of a cafeteria. So, naturally, I went in search of wallets in need of filchin'. Now, I'm usually fairly generous with who I get my five-fingered-discounts from. I mean, I think I've ripped off almost everyone I know, hell, even the gang knows that if a fiver goes missing, I'm the first one you corner. In fact, I think its kind've a public service, 'cause if you catch me holding on to your goods, I'll happily return it and you'll probably be more careful next time. But if a real rough hood lifts your stuff, he ain't going to be nearly as generous with its return. Once burned, twice shy, or some shit like that. Anyway, the point is, even _I_ have some reservations about takin' from sick people and their families.

So I had to go all the way to Tom's Dime Shop to relieve some professional-looking fella of his wallet. I just took the bills and slipped the wallet back in his coat pocket. He never noticed a thing.

The bus driver looked me up and down, in all my day-after-a-rumble-and-haven't-washed-yet glory and reached for the lever to close the door in my face. I glided in before they closed completely, and handed him a ten dollar bill for the fare.

"Keep the change, eh buddy?"

Unsurprisingly, he suddenly realized he hadn't taken such a dislikin' to me after all.

By the time I was dragging myself up the front steps to my house, I could fully appreciate how goddamn exhausted I was. I let the door slam shut behind me and glared at the couch in my living room, where some Grease was detangling himself from my little sister. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes.

"Lordy me. What have we here? Stephanie, dear sister, who's this ugly mug?"

"It's Stacie!" She sounded annoyed. I wasn't surprised. The guy who she'd been swapping spit with was already hightailin' it outta the door, doing up his jeans along the way, and letting the screen door fall shut with far less noise than I had. I think he was the younger brother of one of Tim's gang, but I couldn't be bothered using the mental power to care.

As she buttoned her blouse back up, I moved into the kitchen, feeling like the pain in the side of my face and hand were all I was capable of dealing with right now.

My mother was sitting at the table, reading a magazine about housekeeping. I opened the fridge and grabbed three bottles of beer, then walked towards the bathroom.

"Have a nice morning?" My mother asked absently, turning the page. "How are your friends?"

I paused in the doorway, and watched as her brows drew together in confusion, as something flicked in her memory and she tried to remember what it was about my friends that she had felt was important at the time.

"They're fine." My voice sounded dull, even to my ears. I didn't have the energy to explain to my mother what had happened to Johnny and Dally, or even remind her that they'd… moved on. I didn't even want to think about Pony, still in the hospital. So I took the cowards way out, and took advantage of my mother's absent-mindedness.

I turned on the water in the shower as soon as I reached the bathroom, giving it time to heat up as I kicked the door shut and propped two of the beer bottles on the windowsill. The third I braced against the edge of the sink, and popped the top off, flicking it into the sink. Taking a long swig, I ditched my clothes and opened the medicine cabinet. There, the aspirin, right behind the small row of pill containers with Susan Matthews written on them and little yellow pills inside. Mother's Little Helper.

I wondered sometimes if the gang knew the real reason behind my mother's detachment from what was going on around her. We've never really talked about it, and I sure as hell wasn't going to bring up her dependence on those things. But there was a reason Stephanie and I got away with everything we did. Ponyboy had once explained to me what the word 'vapid' meant: something that had lost all its spirit and was now flat and almost lifeless. I thought it was a perfect word to describe my mother.

I swallowed a few aspirins with a gulp of beer, watching the steam from the water behind me fog up the mirror as the water heated up.

_"-I'll be well by tonight. I'll take a bunch of aspirins." Ponyboy was pleading. _

_The kid was always trying to impress us with how mature he was, even though he was still only 14, he didn't want to be the Curtis Boys' Younger Brother anymore. He usually acted pretty tough, trying to keep up an image of a tuff Greaser. We knew better – he was pretty tuff alright, tough even, but we all knew he was made for better things then runnin' with the gang his whole life. _

_But he was pleading with me now, begging me not to tell Darry, and not caring how cool it made him look, well, that alone would have shown me how important it was to him._

_"All right," I allowed, looking at him and pushing down the worry I felt at how pale he was. "But Darry'll kill me if you're really sick and go ahead and fight anyway."_

_"I'm okay," Pony insisted, and I made an effort to believe him. "And if you keep your mouth shut, Darry won't know a thing."_

I'd kept my mouth shut. Ponyboy _had _been sick, and I'd known, and I'd allowed the kid to convince me not to tell Darry, so Darry'd allowed him to fight in the rumble. And the kid was a good fighter, but he wasn't at his best, not even close – and I'd known that even from how easy it was to beat him when we wrestled that morning. He wouldn't have stood a chance in a rumble.

Now he lay sick in the hospital, asleep and delirious, and it was all my fault.

Beer still in hand, I stepped under the spray of the shower and felt it pound against my back. I picked at the bandage on my hand, drank some beer, picked at the label of the bottle, drank some more beer, closed my eyes and tried not to think of anything important.

It wasn't until I sprawled out on the couch, flipping the top off beer number seven, that my mind started messing with me again. I probably could have ignored it and thought about something else, but Stephanie took the opportunity to sit on the other end of the couch and watch me pointedly.

"Are Johnny and Dallas really gone?" He voice was quiet and very small-sounding. I looked over at her, and she had her legs drawn up under her chin and her arms hugged them. For once, my sister actually looked her age.

"Yepp." I was glad of my six-beer buzz. There was no way I could have answered her question differently.

"How?" She almost squeaked it. Her eyes were big, and she looked on the verge of tears. I looked away.

"Johnny couldn't make it with his injuries from bein' a hero at that burnin' church. And Dally…" I don't know how I managed to say it. "Dallas couldn't live in a world where things worked out like that. So he chose death by cop." I took a long drink. I was thinking about black nights and bright streetlights and loud noises that woke everything up.

"And Ponyboy?" There was something desperate in her voice. I knew my little sister had a crush on Pony, and not like the unholy predatory lust she felt for Steve, either. I think Stephanie could see what we all could, that Pony was meant for more than getting jumped and working at gas stations. Plus, she thought he was cute. I hadn't teased the kid about it, though, because truth be told, Ponyboy would be good for my sister. If she didn't ruin it in the meantime by getting a bun in the oven or something with all the foolin' around she did.

"Sick and hurt and tired." I stared into my bottle, trying to see the amber liquid through the foam. "He'll be okay. " I swished the contents around.

_But it's my fault_ _he's there in the first place. _

I fell asleep. At least, I think I fell asleep; I don't think I was soused enough to pass out right there on the couch, but Lordy, who knows. It'd been a long few days, with too little sleep and food and too much goin' on in my head. It was enough to make even a regular booze hound like me more tipsy than usual.

What I do know is that Stephanie woke me up with a jab to the ribs, causing me to jerk awake and spill lukewarm beer all over myself. Tuff.

"Phone's for you. I think it's the beefcake Curtis."

I brushed past her, handing her the mostly empty bottle and captured the phone from the table.

"Howdy." I scrubbed my face with my good hand, wincing as I got too close to my stitches.

"Hey Two-Bit. The doc's with Pony right now. They're giving him a final exam, but say I can take him home with me tonight." Darry sounded both exhausted and elated, the combination making me more tired just thinking about it.

"Glory hallelujah! That's the best news I've heard today, Darryboy." I hollered into the phone, giving a whoop of joy that caused Stephanie to splutter on the warm beer she'd been attempting to get down. I threw a crumpled up piece of newspaper at her in retaliation.

"Do ya think you can get over to the house and drive over my truck? Steve and Soda are still at work, and I don't want them playing hooky."

I glanced over at the clock and was startled to see it was getting close to eight. Damn, no wonder I was hungry.

As for Steve and Soda, they'd only be at work for another hour. I considered if I should go over and give Soda a heads up on his brother's newfound freedom, then quickly decided against it due to the likelihood of Soda going AWOL from work. If Soda found out Ponyboy was going home, he'd want to be there.

Ol' Mister Ricky at the DX would never fire Soda, despite what Sodapop may think. The boy's just too pretty. His bein' so good lookin' brings in a ton of business to the station, and Ricky knows it, too. But Soda needed the work hours, 'cause the Curtis boys needed the cash. Soda will be pretty disappointed when he finds out he missed his little brother's homecoming, but oh well.

"Sure thing, Darry-O."

After I hung up I turned and grabbed a curious-looking Stephanie under the arms and swung her about, almost knocking over the lamp. She squealed and I put her down, and she swatted me on the shoulder and I swatted her back.

"Ponyboy's coming home!" I enlightened her. She grinned, then blushed, then attempted to look like she was too cool to care. I raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed again, and then stormed off with some girly excuse I didn't want to think about.

I went to grab my coat, wondered where it was, and then realized I hadn't had it since last night at the Curtis house after the rumble. That brought down my good a few pegs. I collected two pieces of bread from the kitchen, slapped them around a block of cheese and took a bite out of what was quite possibly the laziest sandwich ever.

"Goodbye, dear!" From my mother as I headed to the door. She didn't ask where I was going or when I'd be back, like Darry would if I were Soda or Pony. She couldn't be bothered to worry.

I shouted goodbye then slammed the door.

It was only as I slouched my way down the street towards the Curtis house, wishing I'd taken a few aspirin for my face and hand, that I remembered that it was my fault Pony was sick, and that if Darry knew, he wouldn't want me anywhere near his house.

-

The hospital was just the same as I'd left it. It was busy as hell, especially the waiting room. There was some kid puking into a small little curvy cardboard bowl in the waiting room, and missing entirely. Next to him a guy with a nail through his hand and a very bloody rag tried to back away as much as possible. It was an escape not made easy while he was still wedged into his little red plastic hospital chair. The vomit, impalement and blood combination was revolting.

I pushed the up button for the elevator about eight more times then was strictly necessary, and saluted a doctor that glared at me as he walked past. The doors beeped as they opened, and I looked up to see it was already full. I glanced over at the door to the stairs, and then growled under my breath and slipped past an angry-looking man in a suit. I wedged myself into a corner next to an overweight woman who smelled like mouldy bread.

"Check out monkeyman," I pointed a thumb at suitboy. "Guess I shouldn't have left my fancy duds at home, eh?" The big woman tried to inch away from me, but was stopped by the press of people on all sides. I slung my hands in my pockets, wrinkled my nose, and planned the exciting launch of an anti-elevators and pro-stairs committee.

After going to the fourth floor, the third floor, and back to the first floor, we finally arrived at the second floor. I almost had to do the breaststroke to get through the crowd of people towards the door. And not the fun kind, if you know what I mean.

The door to room 206 was open, so I let myself in. All eyes swivelled to me as the tense conversation came to an abrupt standstill. I gave a smile and a wave, crossing the room to Pony's side. I gestured for them to continue. They ignored me, and Darry and two guys in white coats went back to their argument. I recognized the Whitecoats as the doctors from before, but I sure as hell didn't remember their names.

Grey-haired doc looked like he was trying to look down authoritatively at Darry. He wasn't doing a very impressive job, since Darry was not only taller than him, but could probably bench-press him. Darry looked like he wanted to toss Grey out the window. The younger-looking doc with the tuff sideburns was looking between the other two and just looked tired.

"It is my professional medical opinion that Mr. Curtis is not yet well enough to be released into the care of his guardian." Grey said the last word as if it tasted bad.

"Ponyboy will get more rest at home than he's getting here! And that's all he's doing here, isn't it? Resting?" Darry was gesturing wildly as he spoke. I could tell he was trying to be calm. I wouldn't say he was being completely successful.

"He's here under observation – " Grey started, his grip on his pen looking almost painful.

"That's what he was here for last night! And you said he's going to be fine!" Darry ran a hand through his hair.

"We would like to keep him here until he makes a complete return to consciousness, to make sure there is no lasting damage." Grey was obviously trying to sound soothing, but instead sounded annoyingly like he was talking to a four year old.

I know the real reason Darry didn't want to keep Pony in the hospital. It was true that the kid really would sleep better at home away from all the impersonal white walls and the impersonal white-coated staff. But now that Pony was all bandaged up and out of danger, by taking him home Darry would save on the hospital bill.

"But is that really necessary?" Darry sounded worried. He wouldn't take Pony home unless he was sure he wasn't hurting his brother's health in some way.

The doc with the sideburns looked like he had finally had enough, and stepped forwards until he was practically in between Darry and Grey.

"You can sign Ponyboy's release papers at any time, without medical consent, but if you do so you also remove any liability the hospital may have for Ponyboys' health resulting from that decision." Sideburns was talking straight to Darry, and Grey didn't look too pleased about it. "But I think in these circumstances we can consent to Ponyboy's release, and I can come by your house for checkups."

"That would be great." Darry said immediately.

"Doctor Brenton is correct," Grey admitted, looking irritated. "That is an option, although not one we usually pursue. In a hospital as busy as Tulsa General, we don't have time to be making follow-up housecalls for every patient. However, we do make exceptions for special cases, and if Doctor Brenton feels he has time to spare for checkups in addition to his current Intern duties, I'm sure something can be arranged."

I snorted, and everyone momentarily looked my way. I raised my eyebrows and they went back to ignoring me. No wonder Grey didn't suggest it right off, apparently actually helping patients was not as important to him as making his job as comfortable as possible.

As Sideburns found a nurse and asked her to go get the paperwork they needed, Grey put his pen back into his coat pocket. "Doctor Brenton seems to have everything under control here," he said stiffly. "And I have other patients to attend to. Good luck with Ponyboy, Mister Curtis." He offered his hand to Darry, and I've seen handshakes at the beginning of rumbles with more sincerity than that one.

I looked down at Pony, and couldn't help but reach for his hand. Call me a big ol' softie, but I liked the kid and he just looked so darn young. His hand was cool in mine, and his pained expression softened somewhat. They'd removed his IV and changed the bandage on his head. He looked impossibly small lying there in the bed, and as I looked at his hospital gown I wished I'd thought to bring him some clothes from the Curtis house when I picked up the Ford. Ah well, no one had ever accused me of being thoughtful, so I guess I wasn't lettin' anyone down.

"Soda…" Pony turned his head into the pillow, his forehead creasing. "Soda, I wanna come home…"

I squeezed his hand a bit, wondering if it was wrong of me to hope that he thought I was Soda.

"Alright, we're golden." Darry said, coming up beside me and brushing Ponyboy's bangs off his forehead. The lines in the kid's face sorta softened, and he twisted back the other way. "The nurse is gunna roll his bed down to the front doors, and I'm gunna carry him from there." Darry sounded understandably excited, and I grinned at him.

I tell ya, those rolling beds are handy. People just moved outta our way, and we even got the elevator all to ourselves. I wished Soda and Steve were here in less tense circumstances and we could have some pretty tuff races on those things. Drag races would have nuthin' on those. Add in some beer and dames and it'd be great times.

I laughed my head off when Darry started to lift Pony up and we saw that his hospital gown was open in the back, showin' off his undies to the whole wide world. And then I took my jacket off and put in on the kid, and it was big enough on him that his modesty was safe. Mostly.

Darry gave me a look that said I was never to mention this in Pony's presence, and I regretfully agreed. But the look on Pony's face when he was normal again would be priceless, and very, very red. The kid was so serious, he could do with some teasing now 'n then. I very humbly took the responsibility for said teasing upon myself. Steve would help. He was good like that.

I sat in the back seat of the truck with Pony, so that he wouldn't roll off. Darry laid him down so that his head was in my lap, and as small as the kid seemed to all of us, we still had to do some arranging to get his long legs in the car and not hanging out the window.

Darry drove as careful as I've ever seen him, doing more shoulder checks and lookin' in his mirror far more then was really needed. I can't say I blame him. When Sammy Joe knocked up his gal Jenny, he drove them both and the new baby home from the hospital at half the speed limit. Boy got honked and hollered at till kingdom come, and the fuzz even gave him a ticket for drivin' so slow. Sammy Joe didn't mind though, 'cause he got mama and baby home safe.

Pony started talkin' about Johnny on the drive though and it near broke my heart. I could only pat his too-blonde hair and think of all the Marilyn Monroe jokes I could torture him with.

Once Darry carried him inside and got him all settled in his bed, my guilt came back to bite me in the ass. I still hadn't told Darry how this was all my fault. If I had told Darry about Pony's fever, he'd know that he was in no shape for a rumble, and Pony would never have gotten kicked in the head. He never would have seen Dally get shot – fearless, tough Dallas – and fainted from the shock. It all spiralled down to me, and that one, awful decision.

"Well, I should go." I caught a glimpse of Darry's look of confusion at my sudden departure, and then I was out the door, and two blocks away when I realized I had forgotten my jacket at the Curtis house, again.

Pony's getting sick was all my fault. Darry didn't know. Darry needed to know. Darry should know before Soda and Steve got home, so that when he decided to pummel me he wouldn't have back up.

I was turned around and walking back towards the Curtis' before I could stop myself. Any beating Darry could give me for causing his kid brother to spend the night in the hospital would only be fair. I knew when I promised Pony not to tell Darry that if he ever found out he'd kill me. And now he was _really _sick, and I hadn't told him.

I found Darry where I'd left him, in Pony and Soda's bedroom, watching over a pale, sleeping Pony. I steeled myself. I was a tough hood. I could do this.

"It's my fault." The words caught in my throat. I was looking at Darry's well-defined muscles and wishing he maybe carried less bundles of roofing up ladders quite so often. I thought of the rumble, and Darry's ability to get Socs to fly three feet with one punch.

"What?" Darry sounded wary, and a bit confused. It was okay, it was only fair that he know the details before he pounded the living daylights out of me.

"When I babysat him, the day of the rumble," Now that I had already started, it seemed a lot easier to get all this guilt of my chest. I never was real good at keeping secrets. I could feel my voice speed up. "He was out of it, real tired and pale and sick-looking. He almost feel asleep at a bus stop after we visited Johnny."

The thought of Johnny, so awful and close to death and my fake cheerfulness the only thing I could do, and Johnny's mother, such a trainwreck and the only one to visit him except the gang, made my throat close up.

_Oh, Lordy! He has to live with that. _My words that day had been true. Vacant and drug-dependent as my mother was, she didn't let somebody beat on me night and day.

"And he was runnin' a fever." My voice started shaking. Shit, shit, shit, I was NOT going to start bawlin' in front of Darry!

"And he made me promise not to tell you, that he'd be okay, that he just needed to take some aspirins." I watched as Darry stood up, still not able to look at his face. I wasn't going to back down, I was going to take my beatin' like a man.

"And now… Now he's real sick, and 'cause I didn't tell you – " Okay, so much for this whole 'not blubberin' in front of Darry' plan. "So, it's all my fault." Some tuff Grease I was.

And then Darry took a step towards me, and I braced myself for the sledge-hammer blow, but then he put his arms around me and was hugging me and I was bawlin' like a baby and I was grabbing his shirt and sobbing into his shoulder and I think I could hear him crying too and it was nice.

"It's not your fault." Darry assured me, when we pulled away, faces damp and slightly embarrassed for ourselves and each other. "I knew he wasn't at his best, but if I hadn't let him fight he'd have come on his own like Dally. This wasn't just a rumble, it was personal. I let him come with us, so I'd know he was close."

I had to admit, it did make sense. I felt a lot lighter now, like all that was left in me was sadness, and that I could live through.

Darry whacked me over the head. "Ow!" I said, more out of reflex than pain, since the swat to the back of my head hadn't actually hurt all that much.

"When I'm blamin' you for something, you'll know it." Darry said.

-- To be Continued --


End file.
